


Death Shall Have No Dominion

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gencest Bang, Grief/Mourning, Pagan Gods, Platonic Soulmates, Reunions, Soul Bond, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-11 09:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: The world didn’t end when Sam died, it just felt like it to Dean. The Darkness is still in the world, and she needs to be stopped. The fight seems insurmountable alone, but Dean and Sam quickly learn that, when you’re soulmates, death doesn’t to have to mean goodbye. A story of brotherhood and a bond that surpasses the constricts of life and death.Beautiful art created by themegalosaurusBeta'd by KToon and themegalosaurusPre-Read by ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VegasGranny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegasGranny/gifts).



> Thank you so much KToon for beta’ing this for me and Themegalosaurus for doing the final edits. Thank you Ncsupnatfan for being there each step of the way. She answered random questions, she supported and encouraged, and she gave great feedback for each chapter that made editing a breeze. 
> 
> This is my entry for the Gencest Bang. If you’re not sure what Gencest is—I didn’t know until I heard about this bang—it’s described as a ‘mashup of Gen and Wincest, it describes stories where there is no sexual or romantic relationship between Dean and Sam, but the story will focus on their intense emotional bond. So, basically, Wincest without the romance or sex, but all the psychotic, irrational, erotic codependency.’ 
> 
> That is what I have tried to deliver in this story—the brother bond I love—and I hope some of you will enjoy it with me.

” alt=“image” />

**_Chapter One_ **

 

Dean turned another page of the book and stared down at the pages of small type, wondering if this was going to have any more insight into their problem than the dozen he’d already read. They had found nothing helpful at all so far. Everything the Men of Letters had written about were things they’d already learned from being around angels as long as they had. Dean was starting to think it was a waste of time searching the library at all. If there was a way to get an archangel out of a vessel, they’d have known it already. 

“Hey, I’ve got something,” Sam said, coming into the library with his laptop in his hands.

“For Cas?” Dean asked hopefully.

Sam set the laptop down on the book in front of Dean and said, “No, it’s a hunt.”

Dean picked up the laptop and set it down away from him. “Let someone else take it,” he said dismissively. “We’ve got bigger problems. Like Cas being ridden by Satan.”

Sam’s brows pinched together. “I know that’s a big problem, but…”

Dean sighed. “I get it, Sam, you’re pissed. I’m pissed, too. He crapped all over what you did putting Lucifer away by letting him out again, but it’s still Cas, he’s family. We have to help him.”

Dean did understand how Sam felt. When he thought of what Sam had been forced to do, what it had cost him, he wanted to rant and rave at Castiel, too, and he would when he got him back, but they had to get Lucifer out of him first.

“I know it’s Cas,” Sam said, the words bitten off.

“He made a mistake,” Dean stated, but Sam spoke over him.

“And so did I? I’ve not forgotten, Dean. I know Lucifer is only a problem now because of me.”

“That’s not what I mean. Cas had his reasons. He obviously thought he was doing the right thing when he let him out.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sam said, his fingers drumming on his leg. “That’s not what this is about. This is about saving lives. I think we’d be making another mistake to skip this hunt. People are dying. And we both need this. We’ve been searching this stuff for weeks, finding nothing, and we’re fried. We need to stop and breathe for a while. Let’s do that while saving lives and come back to it when we’ve got clear heads. We can regroup and start again.”

Dean knew he was right. They were probably missing things in their research from the fact they’d been staring at the same information in different form for weeks, and besides, they couldn’t leave people to die. They could have gotten another hunter on it just as easily, too, but Dean didn’t trust anyone as much as he did himself and Sam. They would get the job done. 

He folded the corner of the page and slammed the book closed. Sam looked faintly scandalized at what he would think of as criminal damage to one of the precious books, but when Dean said, “Okay, tell me what you’ve got,” he brightened and turned the laptop to show Dean the missing person’s report he’d opened on the browser.

“Hikers are going missing in Idaho. It didn’t get my attention till this showed up though.”

He opened a new window and Dean saw a crime scene picture Sam had obviously hacked from a PD showing a man with gashes over his body and a ragged hole over his heart. He couldn’t tell whether the heart was missing, but he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

“Werewolf,” Sam said triumphantly.

“We haven’t taken one of those since Kate and her sister.” Dean said. “We’re due one.”

Sam’s lips pressed into a thin line, perhaps bothered by Dean’s easy reference to the girl that had been forced to kill her own sister. They’d both been in that position and had made different choices.

“I don’t think it’s Kate,” he said. “I know she couldn’t make any promises, but she’s strong. I think it’s someone new.”

“Okay, I’ll get my stuff,” Dean said. “Meet you at the car.”

Sam snapped the laptop closed and gave him a more genuine smile than he’d seen for weeks.

Dean started towards his bedroom, mulling over the idea of killing a werewolf and how it could be a good release after all the research, only to come to a dead stop when he heard Sam’s cautious voice.

“Billie?”

Dean spun and saw the reaper standing by the table he’d just vacated. She trialed her fingers over the books still spread out over the table and said, “You look busy.”

Dean glowered at her. She was the one that was planning to stuff him and Sam in The Empty when they died, and according to Sam, she was pretty excited about it. She had helped him get into Hell to save Sam but he knew they couldn’t trust her. She definitely wasn’t an ally.

“What do you want?” he asked truculently.

She raised an eyebrow. “I admire that in you, Dean. Not many people face off with me like that. Death had no patience for it, but I see it for what it is. You are scared, but you’re fighting through it.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Dean said. “Your old boss, sure, Death was scary, but you’ve got nothing on him. I know you’re planning to stick us some place ugly when we die, but we’re not dead yet so you’re pretty much powerless.”

“I could kill you,” she said.

“You won’t,” Sam said confidently. “You like the rules. You can’t reap us before our time.”

He saw a flicker of annoyance cross her face and knew Sam was right. She would probably like to kill them, maybe she even craved it, but she wouldn’t be the one to do it.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

“I have a case for you.”

“We’ve already got one,” Sam said.

“Mine is more important.”

Dean scoffed. Of course she would think so, but Dean thought that a werewolf killing hikers was more pressing than whatever issues she had. She could fix her own messes.

“What is your case?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam had brought them this hunt—he’d been so eager for it, even—but now he was asking her as if they were going to actually take it.

Billie winked at Dean and turned her attention to Sam. “People are dying and not getting to Heaven or Hell.”

“Are they going to The Empty?” Sam asked, a shadow of fear crossing his face. 

“No, they’re ending up in the other place I have no control over.”

Sam frowned. “What’s that?”

Dean was confused, too. He only knew of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory before Billie had shown up threatening them with The Empty.

“It’s the Underworld.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. “Sounds like a great vacation spot.”

“It’s not,” Billie said.

“I didn’t know it was real,” Sam said. 

“What you don’t know could fill books,” Billie said, a cruel glint in her eyes. “It’s real, and as your brother so loquaciously pointed out, it’s not a nice place. It’s a whole new hell to the one you’ve visited. And people are being dragged there against the rules.”

“What’s doing it?” Dean asked.

She considered a moment and then redirected.  “The reapers sent to take the marked souls are being attacked and trapped. I need you two to stop it.”

“Why can’t you?” Dean asked. “If we’re so useless, if we know nothing, why send us to fix your big problem?”

“Because I don’t want to end up like them. I have a job to do.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I’ll make time to care about that another day. I’ve got a friend trapped in Lucifer, The Darkness running free, and a werewolf in Idaho that’s snatching hikers.”

Billie’s eyes hardened. “People are being sent to a kind of Hell that they don’t deserve. I know you can’t ignore that. And I am not offering you nothing for it. You both have a history of failure, everyone knows that, but you also have successes stacked to your name, too.  I am putting this on you as I believe you can handle it. But if you’re too scared…”

“We’re not scared,” Dean said.

“That’s good. Most people would be.”

“What are you offering us if we do it?” Sam asked.

“A favor. As your brother said, you’re facing a lot right now. A favor from me is worth something. I always deliver. Tell me you couldn’t use a little help right now. The Darkness is out there, as you say.”

“Will you still send us to The Empty?” Sam asked.

“Yes, rule are rules, but I might be able to help you with The Darkness.”

She drew a scrap of paper from her pocket and said, “The deaths are located in Greenville, Illinois. This is the next person due to be reaped. Her name is Melinda. See if you can save her.”

“We haven’t said we’ll do it yet!” Dean snapped, but it was too late. She’d disappeared already.  “Dammit!”

Sam picked up the piece of paper and examined it. “What do you think?”

“I think she’s a bitch.”

“Me too, but what about these people?” When Dean looked incredulously at him, he went on. “I don’t want to do anything for her either, but these people are going to some kind of hell and we might be able to stop it. We both know what Hell is like. If the Underworld is worse…”

“What about the werewolves?”

“We can put Rudy on it. He’s good with werewolves.” He sighed. “I don’t trust anyone to take care of this as well as I do us. And we could do with all the help on Amara we can get. Billie has power behind her.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine. Let’s do it. You call Rudy and I’ll get our bags.”

He walked away, hating the feeling of the puppet strings he knew were in his hands. Billie was the one pulling them, and he already hated her before that fact, but he didn’t trust anyone as much as he did himself and Sam, either. If they could save people ending up in the same kind of place he and Sam had been, it was worth the feeling.

xXx

Dean opened the door to their room in the Shamrock Inn and groaned. The dominant color in the room was green and gold. There were lucky shamrocks on the wallpaper and the lamps beside the beds were shaped like pots of gold with yellow shades patterned with golden coins. There was even a porcelain leprechaun on the table, which Dean picked up and stowed under Sam’s bed as he set down his bag and looked around.

“It’s not that bad,” Sam said.

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “It’s like Saints Patrick’s day puked in here. It’s exactly that bad.”

“We can see if they have another room free.”

“I think this is going to be a theme in all the rooms in the _Shamrock_ Inn.”

Sam shrugged. “Then we better get this case solved quick so I can get out of here.”

“You think? If we stay one more night in here, I’m going to pick up an accent.”

Sam laughed. “I’d kinda like to see that.” He began to unload his laptop from his bag and said, as if it made their situation any better, “It’s clean.”

“I can handle a bit of dirt,” Dean said, averting his eyes from the lamp. “It’s the migraine inducing wallpaper that’s getting to me.”

Sam set his laptop down on the table and then went back to his bag. “How are we going to handle this?”

“No idea,” Dean said. “I guess we get in and out quick and try to avoid picking up a taste for Guinness.”

“I meant the case,” Sam said patiently. “I don’t think we can do it as feds. We have no idea what landed this Melinda in the hospital. It could be something natural. I didn’t find anything about her online when I checked on the drive over.”

Dean understood the dilemma. They usually got more information and freedom when people saw the suits and badges. If it was a natural death that was coming for Melinda, they could go as family and hope there weren’t already any there that would expose them as fake, but that was risky, too.

“We’ll go as visitors and keep it vague,” Dean said. “When we see her, we can get a gauge on who she is and go from there.”

Sam nodded and pulled a clean shirt out of his bag and said, “I’ll just get changed.”

Dean grinned wolfishly. “There’s no need to dress up, Sammy. We’re not going in to find you a date. Besides, she’s probably going to be unconscious.”

Sam pulled a balled-up pair of socks out of his bag and threw them at Dean’s face. He caught them and threw them back; they landed neatly in the open mouth of the bag.

“I’m changing, as I feel funky after an eight-hour drive. You could do the same.”

Dean sniffed his shirt. “It’s clean.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled on the fresh shirt. He buttoned it and said, “Let’s go.”

Dean pulled his gun from his bag and tucked it into his jacket, then considered a moment before adding a knife, too. Sam nodded and did the same, then went to the door and opened it. Dean tied his bag shut in case they got late housekeeping that noticed the wealth of weapons he carried and followed Sam out, glad to get out of the novelty themed room.

They got in the car and Sam pulled out his phone. “Okay, the Holy Family Hospital is on Route 140. It’s how we—“

“Got into town,” Dean said impatiently. “I know, Sam. I pay attention to more than the music when I’m driving.”

“Then you’ll be able to find it without knowing which direction it’s in,” Sam said. 

“I will,” Dean said.

He pulled them out of the parking lot and got onto the road out of town. He came to an intersection and wavered between directions for a moment before turning right. His confidence was rewarded when the saw a blue sign advertising emergency medical care. He figured a place as small as Greenville would only have one hospital.

“See,” he said. “I do know my way.”

“Yes, you do,” Sam agreed with an air of rewarding a child an accomplishment.

Dean grinned. He was feeling good about the atmosphere. He’d worried Sam would be dragged down by what they were doing—the connotations of this Underworld with the hell he’d been in—but he seemed good. He hated that they were doing this for Billie, that they weren’t here to actually save lives since the reaper was going to take them even if they stopped the monster from stealing them to the Underworld, but they were saving them from something worse. He figured someone with a name like Melinda would be a good person, she’d surely have a ticket upstairs, though he knew not everyone matched their name. Who knew someone called Ruby—an innocent name that would fit a beloved pet—could be the evil bitch that brought about the apocalypse with her manipulations?

When Dean spotted the hospital, he pulled into the lot and found them a place. Sam tucked his phone into his pocket and climbed out of the car. He waited for Dean and they walked to the entrance together.

“You can do the talking,” Dean said.

“You feeling shy?” Sam teased.

“No, but this isn’t our usual cover. You have an innocent face, and you can do that whole puppy face thing that makes people all mushy. I look like a serial killer when I try it.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t give yourself credit. You can look just as mushy as me when you try.”

“Why would I want to try?” Dean asked.

“For situations like… Never mind. I’ll do it.”

Dean fell into step beside him as they walked through the automatic doors and to the reception. Sam greeted the middle-aged woman seated behind the desk and smiled ingratiatingly. “Hi there. I wonder if you can help us…”

The woman seemed to sag as she caught sight of Sam’s face and her hands fluttered over the computer keyboard. “I’ll try,” she said.

“We want to visit Melinda Parker,” Sam said. “But we don’t know where to find her.”

The woman batted her eyelashes and Dean swallowed a laugh. Apparently, she was the rarity that went from mush to enticed by Sam’s compassion.

“I’ll check for you,” she told him. Her fingers danced over the keys and she said, “Parker… Parker… Yes. I have her. She’s on the nephrology unit. Take the elevator to the second floor and go right. You’ll see signs.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, flashing her his dimples. Dean was pretty sure her pupils dilated.

“You’re very welcome,” she said. “If there’s anything else you need, I’m here until six. That’s when my shift ends.”

Apparently completely oblivious to the woman’s change in mood, Sam smiled at her again and said, “Sure. We’ll find you if we need to.”

The woman gave Dean a passing glance and turned her attention to Sam again as he nodded to Dean and walked to the elevators at the end of the large lobby. 

“I think you got lucky there, Sammy,” Dean said in an undertone as Sam pressed the button to summon a car.

“What?” Sam asked blankly.

Dean made his voice breathy. “My shift finishes at six…”

“Gross, don’t do that again,” Sam said, his mouth a grimace “And she was just being helpful.”

“I know you’re not as up to speed with ladies as me, but that woman _liked_ you.”

The car arrived and Sam stepped in without comment. Dean could see him mulling over what he’d said though, and the thought wasn’t appealing to him. Dean would have been disturbed if it was.

Sam pressed the button for the second floor and they rode up.

“Remember, Sam, we’re not here for dates,” Dean said seriously. “We’re stopping a monster dragging people to the Underworld.”

Sam nodded, looking distracted. “I wonder which one it is.”

“Which what?”

“Underworld. Most cultures and religions have a version of it, hell is the one most are familiar with. It could be any of them though.”

“You think they’re all real?” Dean asked, horrified by the thought.

“I hope not,” Sam said seriously.

The elevator doors opened and Sam checked the direction on the wall before taking them left.

“What is nephrology anyway?” Dean asked.

“Renal,” Sam said then added, “kidneys.”

“I know what renal is,” Dean said, a bite of annoyance in his voice. As the person that was always telling Dean he was a genius not a grunt, he sometimes spoke to him as if he was Castiel.

As they pushed open a door and walked along a long hallway, Dean thought about Castiel. He wondered if Billie would be able to help them get him back. Make it two favors instead of one. She’d have to see Castiel would be an asset, too, if they could get Lucifer in another vessel. Dean didn’t like the idea of working with the Devil, but he was the only one that had gone up against Amara before.

Sam pushed open a door marked nephrology and they walked into a busy ward with people in uniforms making their way up and down the path, as well as many patients toting IV poles.

A woman in flowered scrubs spotted them and came toward them. “Can I help you?”

Sam was a little more cautious with his charm this time, keeping his smile small as he said, “We’re here to see Melinda Parker.”

She beamed. “Good. Melinda gets very few visitors.” Her smile faded. “Do you know her condition?”

“No,” Sam said. “We only know that she was admitted.”

“I see. Well, Melinda is very unwell. We have moved her care plan into a palliative one now. She’s unconscious. I’m afraid she doesn’t have long.”

Dean was impressed to see Sam morph his expression into one of convincing shock, even though they’d both known coming in that Melinda was at the end of her life.  

“No, we didn’t know,” he said. “We’d like to see her now if we can. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“Of course.” She pointed down the long corridor. “She’s in room twenty-seven.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

They walked through the corridor, checking room numbers as they went, coming to a stop outside the right one.

Sam paused a moment before opening the door and going in. Dean followed him and stopped just inside, horror filling him. He’d been expecting someone in their late sixties, with greying hair and a life lived behind her. But the girl on the bed was no older than twenty, and that was at a stretch. Her blonde hair fanned over the pillow she reclined on. Her closed eyes were ringed by dark shadows and her skin was almost grey. She was pretty though, a persona of innocence and vulnerability around her that was only in part to the tubes and wires that connected her to the machines around the bed.

“She’s so damn young,” Dean said bitterly.

Sam picked up the chart hanging from the end of the bed and informed him, “Twenty-one. Kidney failure secondary to diabetes. She looks younger than she is.”

“Still too damn young for this,” Dean said. “The world sucks.”

“It does,” Sam concurred, pulling a chair up beside the bed and sitting down.

Dean took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and looked at the girl. This was so wrong. She should be in college, experiencing life, not on a hospital bed experiencing the end of it. And she probably only had hours left. The reaper would come soon, the monster, too, and only him and Sam stood in the way of her getting to her heaven.

The light mood of only minutes before was gone and Dean was angry. They were going to save her from the Underworld, but she would still be dead. 

The door opened and a different nurse came in. She’d obviously been appraised of their presence as she showed no surprise to see them, but a kind of happiness instead. She picked up Melinda’s chart and walked around Dean’s chair to the machine beside the bed. “I won’t be long,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “Do what you need to do.”

She smiled at him and asked, “How do you know Melinda?”

“We’re cousins,” Sam responded.

“Where are the rest of her family?” Dean asked, recognizing for the first time that she was not only young but alone, too.

The nurse frowned. “I thought you were family. I thought you’d know.”

“We are,” Dean said.

“Distant,” Sam added. “We’ve not seen Melinda in a long time. There was a rift in the family and we lost touch.”

She seemed mollified. “Ahh, I’m sorry. I’m afraid Melinda lost her parents two years ago. They were driving her to the hospital for her dialysis appointment when they were hit by an SUV. It was a head-on collision. Melinda sustained minor wounds but her parents were killed instantly.”

“That’s awful,” Sam said quietly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Melinda has been alone ever since.” She noted something down on the chart then walked to the end of the bed and returned it to its place. “You’re here now though. I’ll leave you with her.”

“Thanks,” Sam said distractedly.

She slipped out of the room and Sam sighed heavily.

“This sucks,” Dean said.

“I can’t even imagine how it must feel,” Sam said. “I always had you and Dad growing up, and then, when I was in college, I had friends and Jess that would have made sure I wasn’t alone. They would have found you for me. To be like this and to have no one with you…”

Dean nodded. He’d never been alone either. Even when he’d been without Sam and his father, Lisa and Ben had been there. They would have taken care of him. They _had_ taken care of him. They had kept him going that awful year Sam had been gone. No one was there to take care of Melinda but them, and all they could do was kill the monster that was coming for her. 

“She’s not alone now,” Dean reminded him. “We’re here.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, we are, but for how long?”

Dean realized what he was saying and he looked away. They were here for a hunt, and they couldn’t do it until the monster actually showed up. They were sitting here now, waiting for her to die.

He felt like an asshole. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Sam were sitting in silence. Dean knew they should be talking, helping Melinda somehow, but he had no idea what to say. He’d never been in a situation like this before. The deaths he saw were usually fast and bloody, not lingering, leaving the victim wasted and alone. The closest he’d come to it was when they’d lost Bobby, and they’d barely had any time with him at all in the end, just long enough for Bobby to give them the numbers. 

The door opened, and they both looked up hopefully. Dean was pleading for someone that would take the burden of silence away for a while, but Sam’s tension showed he was looking for the monster they’d come to stop.

The woman that stepped inside was the furthest thing from a monster, though. She looked only a little older than Melinda herself, and she was beautiful. Her dark hair was held back from her face, exposing a graceful neck, encircled by an amber pendant on a silver chain.  Her skin was ivory and her figure slender. She either wore no make-up or it was so well applied that it looked natural. Dean was surprised to notice so much about her. He usually noted attractiveness and moved on, but this woman was striking, drawing scrutiny without seeming aware of it.

“Oh, I didn’t know anyone was already here,” she said with an accented voice Dean thought was Italian.

“We’re family,” Sam said, his voice slightly stunned. Dean thought he was just as struck by the woman as he felt. 

She beamed. “That’s wonderful. I’ll let you be alone with Melinda.”

“No!” Dean said a little desperately. He didn’t want to leave Melinda in silence again, and he had a feeling this woman was the sort that would know what to say in these circumstances. “You’re welcome to stay. How do you know Melinda?”

“I don’t, really,” she said, pulling up a chair beside Dean, close to the bed, and fixing her arresting hazel eyes on Sam who glanced away awkwardly, as if overwhelmed by her attention. “I am a compassion visitor.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

She considered her answer carefully, as if deciding how much to tell them, though when she spoke Dean realized it was how much she wanted Melinda to know that censored her.

“I come at a time people need comfort most of all. No one is born alone…”

Dean ducked his head as he understood. No one was born alone, and no one should have to die alone, too. She was there to be with Melinda before her death. He himself had never been alone at the point of death, either. Sam had been there, and the one time he wasn’t, when he’d been dying to save Sam’s soul, Doctor Robert and Eva had been with him. They hadn’t been what you could call comforting, but that death hadn’t been a real one; it was just a visit.

The fact his life had real deaths and visits was crazy, but each death had been for a purpose; even if the purpose had been for Gabriel to teach Sam a lesson. He’d never been alone though. The idea that there were people like this woman that willingly surrounded themselves in death to help others was pretty amazing. He wasn’t sure he could have done it. He’d spent his life around death and pain, but even in those violent circumstances, this seemed so much more raw and brutal. There was no one trying to save Melinda’s life. They were just trying to save her soul.

The woman reached for Melinda’s hand and entwined their fingers. The contrast of Melinda’s grey pallor and the woman’s rich, healthy ivory was vast. It made it clear which one of them was suffering there.

“Should we leave you alone?” Sam asked.

Dean guessed he was thinking of the vulnerable and private moment of Melinda’s passing and not the case, as they both knew they needed to be there for her more than this woman needed to be. 

“No, please stay,” she said. “The more people here for Melinda the better. Hearing and touch are the last things to go, even for an unconscious patient, so you can help her.”

Dean felt worse now for the time they’d spent in silence. Had Melinda been aware of their presence, wishing that they would talk, touch, do anything other than sit there staring at her?

“You can talk,” she prompted.

“I don’t know what to say,” Dean admitted. “We weren’t that close.”

He wasn’t going to make up memories of a shared childhood for this woman. Melinda might hear. She shouldn’t spend her last moments wondering who the strangers by the bed were and why she didn’t remember the things they were talking about. She didn’t need to die with lies in her ears.

The woman nodded slowly. “I like to talk about my home. Why don’t you try that?”

“Where is your home?” Sam asked. “Italy? That’s probably a better story than ours.”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps it is. I lived in Tuscany most of my life, and I like to return there when I can. My town is a place called Cortona. It is a protected city with ancient stone walls on a hill. It was much smaller when I was young, a town only, but it grew over the years and became more modern. It has not lost its charm though. The streets are cobbled and the houses close together, with many narrow roads to explore. There are countless churches, but the most beautiful is the Roman Catholic Santa Maria Assunta. I do not follow their religion, but I am always entranced by it. The people that built it knew what a church should be—a place to feel close to the beauty of your god.”

“It sounds nice,” Sam said quietly, and Dean thought he was as taken in by her description of the place as he was, though he had never been particularly impressed by manmade wonders before.

“It is,” she said. “Only a short journey from the city is the beach of Badiaccia. That too has changed much in my lifetime, but its wonder is still there. The views of the Mediterranean are exquisite. Almost as good as the view from the city gates on my home. There you can see for miles over Tuscany.”

Dean noticed through his distraction of her description that the heart monitor was slowing. Melinda was going. For a moment he wondered at the words she was hearing as she passed, the place she would never see, and then he noticed Sam drawing a sharp breath and shaking his head as if coming from a dream. He took a deep breath, too, and realized that his senses had been dulled by what he’d heard. The spell of her words broke, and he snapped back to his surroundings. If Melinda was dying now, the monster should come soon. He felt the weight of his gun against his chest, and when he reached inside his pocket, he felt the reassuring presence of the knife.

He glanced at Sam and received a covert nod in return. He was ready, too.

The woman seemed to notice their change in mood and she said, “I didn’t think to ask your names. I am Sofia.”

“I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean,” Sam answered, his voice distracted as he searched for a sign of the monster.

Her eyes widened. For a moment, Dean thought it was fear, and he cursed himself for not recognizing what had been staring him in the face for so long; her unnatural beauty, the spell she’d cast over them with her words, the fact she was here with Melinda now, had all indicated that she was their monster. But she didn’t look scared. She looked hopeful, as if she needed them as much as they needed to kill her.

“The Winchesters!” she asked. “I need your help! He’s coming, and I can’t stop him.”

“Who’s coming?” Sam asked. 

Before she could answer, the door opened and a man in a white coat entered. He looked to be around the same age as Sofia and he was just as unnaturally attractive. Dean knew he wasn’t always the best judge of character—look at Gadreel—but he would have bet the Impala that this was the real monster here.

He leapt to his feet, drawing his gun, and Sam did the same. Before he could think of the complications he was going to cause by shooting someone in a hospital, the man had swept his hand through the air, knocking Sam and Dean to the floor and making their guns fall from their hands.

“Don’t do this, Charun!” Sofia said desperately.

The man, Charun, smiled cruelly. “You know you cannot stop me, Vanth.” He had a strong accent that matched the woman’s.

“Vanth?” Sam said, struggling to his feet as Dean tried to get up, too. “Charun?” From the look on his face, Dean guessed he knew who they were. He’d never heard of them though, and he didn’t care what their names were. He just needed to stop what was going to happen.

“Please stop,” Vanth said.

“You know I can’t,” Charun said. “I am doing my job.”

“That’s not true! This soul does not belong to us.”

Dean got to his feet and picked up his gun again, but Charun knocked him down with a wave of his hand again, and Dean was momentarily stunned by the contact his head made with the wall. When his head cleared, he saw that Charun was holding Melinda’s hand. Vanth stood on the opposite side of the bed, unmoving but pleading with him to stop.

He paid her no attention though. He was fixated on the light that appeared on Melinda’s chest and drifted slowly toward his free reaching hand. The light settled in his palm and he closed his fist around it. The light, Melinda’s soul, traveled up his arm and above his heart where it stopped and faded to nothing. The monitor droned as Melinda’s heart stopped, and Charun smiled down at her body once before disappearing without a sound.

Dean picked up his gun and got to his feet, not able to process what had happened. The poor girl on the bed was a shell, her soul had been stolen away and taken to some hell. They’d failed her. They should have been alert from the beginning, aware of what Vanth’s words were doing to them. She had done this to them.

“Put away your guns,” she said, and her tone was desperately sad.

Dean sneered at her. “I don’t think so.”

“Someone is coming,” she warned.

Sam stowed his gun in his jacket and moved around the bed to Dean. He plucked the firearm out of his hand as well, and did the same with his. Dean stared at him disbelievingly, but Sam just nodded to him as the door opened and the nurse that had directed them to Melinda’s room came in. She switched off the heart monitor and said, with a sad expression that seemed genuine despite the fact her life was filled with moments like this. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

“Would you like some more time with Melinda?” she asked.

“No,” Sam said quickly, then moderated his tone to one less eager to get out of there. “We think we’re ready to leave her now.”

She nodded, looking sympathetic. “It might not feel like it, but you helped today.”

“I wish,” Dean muttered.

“Can we talk to you?” Sam said to Vanth, his tone serious now.

“Of course,” she said. “I know a place we can go.”

She smiled at the nurse, received her heartfelt thanks, and then led them out of the room and to a stairwell.

“Don’t even think about disappearing on us,” Dean growled. “We’re still armed.”

“I won’t,” she said, and she sounded sincere.

They walked down the stairs, Dean staying close on her, and out into a hall. She walked confidently past the people that seemed to be watching them despite their own distractions, and out of a door into a garden built into the center of what Dean saw now was a hollow building.

There were people out there, too, some in wheelchairs and wrapped in robes and blankets, and others that were obviously visitors.

They went to an empty corner and Vanth sat down on a bench. Sam sat opposite but Dean stood facing them with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s the deal then?” Dean asked, a bite of anger in his tone. “What are you?”

She looked around at the people that were watching them and said, “You should sit.”

“I’m not doing anything until I get some answers,” Dean snarled.

“Sit down, Dean, people are staring at us.” Sam ordered. “She’s the good guy.”

“She just stood there and watched as that poor girl’s soul was ripped out,” Dean said angrily. “She’s probably in hell already. She is _not_ a good guy. She _is_ the monster.”

“I am not a monster,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “I am a goddess.”

“You say that like they’re not the same thing,” Dean said.

Sam stood up and pulled Dean to sit beside him. “She’s going to talk,” he said in a harsh whisper. “But only to us. People are watching and listening.”

Dean forced himself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace and said, “Talk.”

Vanth looked around at the people watching them and pointedly met their eyes until they looked away, seemingly absorbed in their own conversations again. 

Dean hid his fisted hands under his legs and said, “What just happened?”

“I told you, I am a goddess…”

Sam looked thoughtful. “Etruscan, right?”

“Yes. I serve under Aita to deliver the souls to Zericel.”

“What’s Zericel?” Dean asked.

“It’s our paradise,” she said. “Much as your worthy souls ascend to Heaven, worthy souls among my people ascend to Zericel. It’s the perfect place.”

“Better than our version then,” Dean said. It had been years, although the fact of what was waiting for him after death was a real disappointment. But, he guessed he wasn’t even getting those memories now that Billie had him marked for The Empty.

“It is,” she agreed.

“So, you take them to heaven and Charun takes them to Cipencel,” Sam said.

She nodded. “Cipencel is our version of Hell,” she explained for Dean. “And Charun is its servant. He takes the souls destined to be there to their place.”

“What did Melinda do wrong?” Dean asked. “She couldn’t have done that much bad. She was young.”

“She did nothing wrong,” Vanth said. “What happened to her was wrong. She was a good person, and not even one of ours to be taken. It should have been your reaper that guided her on.”

“Who are your people?” Sam asked. “The Etruscans are long gone.”

She looked pained. “They are, but our descendants still live.”

“So, people descended from Etruscans are yours?” Sam asked. “But that could be anyone. The Etruscans were assimilated into the Romans, and they went everywhere.”

Dean shot Sam an annoyed look. The fact Sam knew so much wasn’t a shock, Sam knew all kinds of crap, but the fact he was throwing himself into this without getting to the real issue of what had happened and why bothered Dean.

“They did, but the lineage must be strong for us. Two descendants need to bring life for us to take. They’re rare. That’s why what Charun is doing is so evil. He’s not just taking souls that do not belong to us; he’s taking far more than he should. We see our people from the mark on their souls, and these victims aren’t marked.”

“You can see their souls?” Sam asked, his face aghast. “You don’t need to touch them?” He seemed more upset about that than Dean would have expected, but when Vanth answered, he understood.

“Yes, I see them. What happened to yours? I’ve never seen one like it.”

“An archangel happened,” Sam said, his face ashamed. “Well, two really. They both took turns.”

Of course she would see what had become of Sam’s in the cage. Dean had seen Sam’s soul when Death had put it back, and it had been one of the most incredible things Dean had seen in his life, but he had been unable to see the damage. He’d heard about if from Castiel though, and he figured if you had the right perception, it would be a grisly sight. Why Sam seemed ashamed of that he didn’t understand, though. It had not been his fault what had happened to him. He’d gone there to save the world.

“I’m sorry,” Vanth said.

Sam ran a hand over his face and his expression became neutral. “Why is Charun doing this?”

“He has been corrupted,” she said. “When we’re not needed to transport souls, we are in our homes, Cipencel and Zericel. My home is a place where I am bathed in joy and love, but Charun is surrounded by hate and darkness. We were created millennia ago, and all that time, Charun has been changing. It’s not his fault what has happened to him.”

“It’s his fault what he’s doing now though,” Dean said, his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms.

“It is,” she said sadly.

“Is that why you didn’t save Melinda?” Sam asked. “Because you feel sorry for him?”

Her mouth dropped open in shock, as if she couldn’t imagine how they could think it. “No! I could not stop him because I am physically unable to. Charun and I are a balance. Light and dark.”

“We’re familiar with the concept,” Dean said bitterly, thinking of the other balancing act that they were dealing with Amara in the world. 

“I can’t touch him. I have been trying to reason with him, to reach the part of him that I once knew, but I cannot. I don’t want to see him die though. He has a role to play.”

Sam frowned. “He’s taking souls to Cipencel. You have to want that to stop.”

“I do. But you can’t imagine how it feels to have this bond. We have been together forever.”

“We get it,” Dean said seriously. “Believe me.” He may not have had millennia with Sam, but he’d had long enough to understand.

She frowned at him. “Perhaps you do. I have heard many stories. It’s why I am so pleased that you’re here. I think if anyone can stop what’s happening, it’s you.”

“You have to know we can only stop it by killing him,” Sam said. 

She looked out over the garden, seemingly lost in thought.

“Vanth,” Sam prompted.

“Perhaps I can reach him still, make him stop.”

“You can’t,” Dean said. He had been corrupted by the Mark, and the only thing that had saved him from that had been its removal. Nothing Sam had or could have said reached him. Nothing Vanth could say to Charun would reach him, either. There was no magic cure for him the way there had been for Dean.

“It’s too late,” Sam said. 

“Yes,” she said sadly. “But I don’t know what will happen to the souls assigned to him when he’s gone. I cannot reap them myself. They could stay trapped.”

Dean thought of the thousands of souls that were already trapped in the veil and shrugged. A few more wouldn’t make a difference. And many of the ones that were already there deserved Heaven. Melinda had, but that had been stolen from her. 

“That’s not our problem,” Sam said, and Dean was surprised to hear that his tone was harsh. He wondered if Sam was thinking about the same innocent souls he was, about Melinda, the poor girl they had just witnessed being stolen away to a hell while they’d been useless to stop it.

“How do we kill him?” Dean asked.

“To kill an Etruscan god, you need to pierce their heart with bronze.” 

Sam nodded and glanced at Dean. “We’ve got a bronze dagger in the bunker.”

“Good,” Dean said viciously. He wanted to get this monster killed.

Vanth stood up. “I know I should thank you for what you’re doing…”

“But thanking us for killing your brother is wrong,” Dean said, finishing her thought. “We know. We’re going to take care of it though.”

She nodded and walked away back to the entrance of the hospital. Sam and Dean sat for a moment longer, communicating silently with glances alone that they were ready to do this, and then followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Neither Dean nor Sam were cruel, but when they got back to the motel and Sam suggested pizza, Dean agreed readily, the depression lifting and being replaced by the act of normality. What had happened to Melinda was awful, and he wished he could have helped somehow, but he had learned he had to compartmentalize the guilt and pain of what had happened and push it down to be revisited in an alcohol fueled haze later. It was the only way for them both to cope. It had taken Sam a long time to learn that lesson. He had felt everything so strongly and for so long at first. Dean had been pleased when he saw the change in him as he accepted that closing it off was the only way to deal.

Dean ordered the pizza, going extra-large even though he knew Sam was going to give him crap about it. He was hungry. He’d had road food the day before and a vending machine breakfast. He needed some real food.

He was informed that the pizza would be there within thirty minutes. Dean asked whether it would be free if it came late, and was told, rather snippily, that they didn’t honor that rule anymore. Dean gave the clerk a saccharine sweet goodbye and tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Bitch,” he grunted. 

“What’s up?” Sam asked, looking up from the laptop he was staring at.

“They don’t send Papa John employees to charm school anymore. All I asked was…”

“You wanted free pizza?” Sam said.

“Well, yeah.”

Sam shrugged. “That was a pretty poor deal from a profit angle for them.”

“Thank you for that lesson in business, Donald. I’ll take notes next time.”

“Donald?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Trump, dumbass. You know about Etruscan gods but not famous businessmen.”

His attention turned back to the laptop, Sam said, “Of course I know about him. I just didn’t… never mind. I know about Etruscan gods from something I read after Elysian Fields, when I was soulless. I wanted to know which gods we could cross off the list.”

“There were a few,” Dean acknowledged.

He threw himself down in the seat opposite him and asked. “What are you looking at there anyway? Porn again?”

Sam grimaced. “Gross. No. I am looking for a bronze knife. We’re a day’s round trip from the bunker and one of us would have to stay here in case Charun came back—not that we’ll be a lot of use if he did. I thought I’d try to find one online. There’s this computer game that I think has them as a weapon…” He trailed off as he clicked something on the laptop again.

“You do know we need an actual weapon, not an imaginary one, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said vaguely. “But the people that play these games really get into it. I’m sure at least some of them will have a prop blade. Got it! Guild Wars II. They use it—“

Dean cut him off with a pointed yawn. “I really don’t care. Do any of them have one?”

“I don’t know yet. I need to create an account so I can post in the forums. Give me a minute.” He tapped at the keys for a moment and then leaned back in his chair. “I’ve put a message in. We’ve just got to wait for a reply.”

“You sure you need to create an account?” Dean asked, smiling widely. “You knew about the blade. Are you secretly a player?”

“Sure, Dean,” Sam said sarcastically. “I am with you pretty much every minute of every day, but I like to use time apart to play computer games instead of snatching the few hours of sleep we manage to get every night. It’s a good time.”

“Wow, someone’s feeling defensive. You sure you’re overcompensating because you’re embarrassed?” Dean’s wide smile faded at the withering look Sam gave him. He looked away and tapped his fingers on the table for a second, then sighed. “It’s taking a while.”

Sam shook his head, smiling again. “Since they’re probably busy actually playing the game, it might take some time. One of them will need a bathroom break eventually, and maybe they’ll check.”

“What an exciting life they have,” Dean said flippantly.

Before Sam could reply, his laptop pinged twice, and he leaned forward. “Yep. Got it. There are two so far.” It pinged again in rapid succession and he grinned. “And we’ve got one here in Illinois.”

Dean got to his feet and walked around to read over Sam’s shoulder. “Dear TyrianTemptress…” He raised an eyebrow as Sam ducked his head and quickly minimized the window. “Temptress, Sammy?”

“I thought they’d be more likely to reply if they thought I was a woman. And they were. There’s one an hour away in Springfield. They gave me their address.”

Dean leaned over and opened the window again. “That’s some impressive cyber-safety. I’m surprised they didn’t give you their bank details, too.” He read the message and grinned. “You also got an offer for dinner along with the address. It’s your day for the ladies, isn’t it? First the swooning senior at the hospital, now Sylvari-Stephen12. What did you tell them you looked like?”

“I didn’t,” Sam said, trying to push his hands away.

Dean slapped his hands and clicked Sam’s avatar to enlarge it. He cackled. “They think that’s you! Sammy, it’s Mia Malkova. Also known as Mia Bliss. She’s one of the best porn stars out there. How did you not recognize her? What did you even search for?”

Sam shoved back his chair, knocking Dean out of the way, and said, “I haven’t stayed up to date with the world of porn lately, obviously. We’ve had other stuff going on.”

“What did you search for?” Dean asked, leering at his brother.

“Hot blondes,” Sam muttered.

Dean laughed. “I’m surprised none of them recognized her. They must be _really_ into their game.” He considered. “Or they think it’s really her. What are they going to say when you arrive on their doorstep?”

“I don’t plan to see them,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “I’m going in at night. I’ve got the address and it will be cleaner than knocking them out to rob them. They’re in a neighborhood called Leland Grove.”

Dean checked the address. “Unit B. If that doesn’t mean basement, you can drive the Impala for a year.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty big bet, Dean.”

“I’m confident. If I’m right, you’re doing the laundry for a year.”

Sam shook his head. “There’s no way I’m taking that bet. I’m not dumb.”

“And you know I’m right.”

Sam considered a moment. “You probably are.”

“I usually am.”

Sam laughed. “Apart from that time you thought you could get a date with Carla Bennett.”

“I had a chance,” Dean said defensively. “You were the one that spoiled it for me, puking all night.”

“I was ten, she was eighteen, _and_ our babysitter. The only chance you had with her was for a bedtime story. Besides, it wasn’t my fault I had stomach flu.”

“You did it on purpose,” Dean grumbled.

“Sure I did,” Sam said patiently. “Most people can projectile vomit on command.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe you can. How would I know?”

Before Sam could come back at him, there was a sharp knock on the door and he grabbed Dean’s wallet from his jacket. “Pizza is here. You’re paying.”

Dean considered arguing, but he was hungry, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t just steal the money back when Sam was sleeping. He closed Sam’s laptop, pushed it aside and prepared himself for some decent food. 

xXx

They came to a stop outside the address Sam had been given on the forum and Dean looked up at the house. It was a neat two story with white painted trim and flowers leading to the front door. There was a sign beside the door with an arrow pointing right that said _Unit B._

“Basement,” Dean said with satisfaction. “I called it.”

“You did,” Sam said, opening the door and climbing out.

Dean followed him and said, “So you owe me a year of laundry.”

“No, I don’t,” Sam said. “I didn’t take your bet. I’m not scrubbing the ghoul brains out of your shirts. You can save that pleasure for yourself.”

Dean shrugged. He’d thought it was a long shot and, ghoul brains aside, it wasn’t so bad doing laundry now that they had the antique twin tub in the bunker. At least you didn’t have to sit around in a laundromat watching your clothes go around the machine, hoping no one stole your shorts from the dryer.

Sam looked up and down the street, then walked around the side of the house to the basement entrance. Dean followed, keeping an eye out for anyone watching while Sam pulled the lock pick from his pocket and got to work.

“What do we do if he’s awake and playing Guild Crap II?” Dean asked.

“I guess one of us knocks him out while the other grabs the dagger.”

“Seriously?” Dean asked, surprised by Sam’s unusually violent plan for a human. 

“No, not seriously. We try to buy if off him, and if he won’t sell, we tie him up and leave the money by the computer. He can buy himself another one.”

“How about you distract him with your feminine charms while I grab the dagger, TyrianTemptress,” Dean suggested.

“How about you don’t call me that again,” Sam said.

“Sure, if it really bothers you,” Dean said innocently, knowing it would needle Sam. “But I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“That’s okay, I did.”

“You got enough money?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t bring my wallet. I brought yours.”

Dean punched him lightly in the side as Sam curled away from him and pushed open the unlocked door.

He eased it open and the sound of deep snores reached them. “He’s not going to be a problem,” Sam whispered. “Stay quiet though.”

“Because my instinct was to be loud,” Dean joked.

Sam ignored him, walking down the steps and into the blue-tinted light below. Dean went after him and saw that most of the light was coming from a lava lamp, though the computer screen was illuminated.

The screensaver was a picture from Busty Asian Beauties. “Figures he didn’t recognize you,” Dean said quietly, pointing at the computer. “He’s got a type.”

“Like you, you mean?” Sam asked.

“Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sam looked away and scouted the room as Dean did the same. There were comic books spread around the surfaces of the room, and two framed on the wall that were emblazoned with a bearded man with unlikely bulging muscles donning a red suit and smiling with bright, white teeth under the name _Super Steve._ Dean smirked when he saw two posters on either side of the comics. One was for World of Warcraft and the other was an old Journey one with Ross Valory looking vaguely sinister with a moustache.

Dean nudged Sam and gestured at the posters. “No taste.”

Sam pointed to a poster on the opposite wall. “There’s Def Leppard, too.”

“ _Some_ taste,” Dean acknowledged, thinking that the two positives of Busty Asian Beauties and Def Leppard didn’t outweigh the rest of the man pit. It smelled like body odor, and the crumbs spread over the keyboard and half-empty chip packets on the desk were just asking for rats. This man had no pride in his home or self.

“Got it,” Sam said with relief, moving toward a shelf with a dagger displayed on a wooden stand. He hesitated before picking it up, as if he was worried that the crap-hole had some form of security protecting its toys.

“Just grab it, Sam,” Dean hissed.

Sam grabbed it but at the same moment the snores behind them died. Sam froze comically, and Dean turned to see the man had rolled over. He was still sleeping, smacking his lips and making his long beard twitch. He wasn’t remotely groomed, but Dean figured time spent on personal hygiene took you away from the computer, something this man surely didn’t want. He looked to be around Sam’s age, and Dean had to wonder at the difference in them. Sam was saving lives, sometimes the world, and this man was living in his subterranean cave, playing games and trying to pick up woman online that were so far out of his league they might as well be from different planets.

“He’s really living his best possible life,” Dean said dryly.

Sam shushed him and grabbed the dagger, exchanging it for a fold of bills, then indicated to Dean to get up the stairs. Having no regrets about leaving, Dean crept quickly up them and out into the fresh air.  

“That was just sad,” he muttered.

“He’s probably happy,” Sam said, sounding unconcerned.

“How?” Dean asked, getting to the car and climbing in behind the wheel.

Sam slid in the other side and said, “He’d probably ask the same about us.” He checked the point of the blade with his thumb as Dean turned the key, bringing the engine to life, and winced as it cut through the skin, drawing blood that dripped down his thumb to his wrist.

Dean laughed as he drove away from the sidewalk and out onto the main road. “Haven’t you learned how to handle a blade yet, Sammy?”

“At least we know it’s sharp,” Sam said, avoiding the question.

 “Remind me to give you lessons on handling weapons sometime.”

“Shut up,” Sam said. “You’ve got no room to mock after I just saw your civilian life.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

Sam grinned now. “If you didn’t have real monsters to kill, you’d be killing them through a computer. You have the same taste in music. And I know that was a Busty Asian Beauties picture. Face it, that would be you.”

“I am nothing like him,” Dean said defensively. “Besides, what he had looked more fun than what you would have. You’d be a bleeding ulcer waiting to happen with a stick up your ass, defending the guilty and counting the money in your bulging wallet.”

“I always wanted to defend the innocent,” Sam said conversationally, as if he’d not heard the rest of Dean’s accusation.

Dean considered the question that had occurred to him for a moment, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. He decided to ask. “Do you still want that, Sam?”

“A bulging wallet?” Sam asked. “Sure. Wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean said. And Sam knew it.

Sam sighed. “I think I still defend the innocent, just in a different way. If you’re asking if I want the apple pie life, the answer is no. I don’t. It was never really an option for me anyway. I would have ended up hunting one way or another. I promised myself I’d stopped, but I would have been dragged back one day. I’d have seen something on the news about people dying, you or Dad would have gotten in trouble and needed me; it would have happened. Don’t get me wrong, I would give almost anything for Jess to be alive, but I wouldn’t have had the life I wanted with her. It was never really an option for me. It was a stupid dream. Besides, I like my life now. Impending apocalypse aside, it’s a good one.”

Dean nodded. It was good. They had each other, and that was something that they never could have had if Sam had settled with Jessica and become a lawyer. The gulf of a difference between their lives would have kept them apart.

 “I’ve got you,” Sam said, mirroring Dean’s thoughts.

Dean smiled inwardly but said, “Okay, that’s’ enough of the chick flick moment, I know I’m awesome and you’re lucky to have me, but we’re stopping now before you start gushing.”

“Jerk,” Sam said good-naturedly.

“Bitch,” Dean replied with relish.

“Seriously though,” Sam said. “Are you happy with your life? Would you want something different?”

Dean knew what he was asking: did Dean want the civilian life he’d had once. Sam had stayed true to Dean’s edict to never talk about Lisa and Ben again, but not talking about them didn’t stop Dean from thinking about them sometimes. They’d been good to him, letting him slip into their lives, and they had saved him in the truest sense after Sam was gone, especially when it was only a promise that stopped Dean swallowing a bullet. But even then, their life had never really been his. It would never have happened with Sam’s instruction of him to go there. Perhaps it never should have happened. He had hurt them, though they didn’t remember it, and he would always feel guilty for that. He wasn’t getting into that with Sam though.

He nodded. “Sure, it’s not so bad. There are things that I wish I had, like Cas back and Amara stopped, but I think we do good, and I wouldn’t want to give that up for something else. I’m happy.”

“With me?” Sam teased.

Dean snapped out a fist and punched Sam’s arm, his eyes still on the road. “You’re not the worst thing in my life.”

“I know,” Sam said happily. “You’re not the worst thing in mine either.”

Dean grinned. They may not get into feelings with each other and tell each other how they felt, but he knew what they were really saying to each other. It didn’t need to be put into words for each other to know it.

Dean turned on the radio and cranked it up loud.

Sam reached to turn it down, but Dean slapped his hand away. “House rules, Sammy…”

“I know, I know,” Sam said tiredly. “I shut my cake hole.”

“Damn right,” Dean said, tapping the beat on the steering wheel. “We’ve got an hour to drive and I plan to rock the whole way.”

Sam groaned. “Awesome.”

Dean grinned. He knew Sam wasn’t really bothered. This was what they did. It was the things that they didn’t say that bonded them more than the things they did. This teasing was how they really talked. Sam was just as happy as he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much Ktoon for beta’ing for me and Themegalosaurus for doing the final edits, and thank you Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

****

**_Chapter Four_ **

 

Neither Sam nor Dean slept much when they got back to the motel. Each time Dean woke, he could hear Sam moving around in his bed. When Dean decided to give up on the idea of sleeping more than an hour and woke for the last time, the early morning light was coming through the green curtains that matched the shamrock bedding, and he saw Sam was already up. The door to the small bathroom was open, and Dean couldn’t hear him moving around, so he guessed he’d gone out in search of breakfast. As long as that breakfast included decent coffee, Dean was going to be happy.

Still feeling half-asleep, he stumbled into the bathroom, used the toilet and then washed his hands and splashed his face with icy water.  It served the purpose of waking him up properly, and he rubbed his face vigorously with the scratchy towel before checking his reflection. He ran a hand across his jaw and decided he could go another day without shaving.

He went back into the bedroom and changed into clean clothes, just buttoning his shirt when Sam came in carrying a paper take-out sack and a tray of four coffees.

“Coffee,” Dean said happily. “You’re a true hero, Sammy.”

Sam grinned as he set it down. “I doubled up on the coffee as I figured we both needed it.”

“We do,” Dean agreed, taking the lid from one of the cups and sipping at it. It was still hot which meant Sam had found somewhere close.

Sam took out a polystyrene tray from the bag and set it down, saying, “That one’s yours.” He took a plastic tub of chopped fruit from the bag, then balled it up and threw it at the trashcan. It landed neatly inside, and he looked pleased with himself.

Dean sat and removed the lid of his tray. Inside was an oozing mound of what looked like huge hash browns sandwiching bacon, sausage and scrambled egg. In that moment Dean felt he’d never seen anything more beautiful or delicious. “This is awesome?” he said appreciatively.

“It’s called a stuffed hash brown,” Sam said, obviously pleased by Dean’s reaction. “I figured it looked enough like a heart attack on a plate for you to enjoy.”

“You thought right,” Dean said, taking the plastic knife and fork Sam was offering him and digging in. The first mouthful was good, the second better, and with the third, as he got in deep enough to get all the contents’ tastes, Dean let out a moan of appreciation. “Damn, Sammy. Want to try some?”

Sam wrinkled his nose as he opened his box of boring fruit. “No, thanks.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“Clogged arteries?” Sam suggested.

Dean pointed his fork at him. “You don’t get to bitch about this. You were the one that brought me this awesomeness. _If_ it clogs my arteries, which it won’t since my body can handle good food like a champ, it’ll be your fault.”

Sam took a bite of apple and shrugged. “Okay.”

Dean dug in again, savoring the tastes, and stopping occasionally to sip at his coffee. He felt wide awake now, ready to kill an evil god and save some souls. It promised to be a good day even.

He swallowed a large bite and asked, “How are we going to find Charun now that we’ve got the dagger?”

“We need another death,” Sam said, toying with his fruit and pushing the tub away.

“Eat that,” Dean commanded. “Talk at the same time.” If he was only eating fruit for breakfast, nothing nutritious like Dean, he was going to eat it all. 

Sam rolled his eyes but pulled it back toward him and speared a strawberry. “We’ll need to talk to Billie to find out who’s next to be reaped.”

“Okay,” Dean said, mulling over the idea. “Who’s dying this time?” He already knew the answer—there was no way Dean was letting Sam take the risk of not getting back again—but he figured it was better to let Sam think he was a part of the decision process.

Sam rubbed his temples looking pained. “Why is it always the most extreme course of action for you?”

“Huh?”

“Death means The Empty now, remember? The place we can’t get back from.”

“Okay, smartass, how are we going to find her without entering the Veil?”

“Neither of us needs to die,” Sam said patiently. “Billie wants something from us, so she’ll probably be around listening out for us. We can just try calling her.”

“Sure, fine,” Dean said, putting down his knife and fork and speaking loudly into the room. “Billie, we need you. Since we’re here for you, doing what you’re too lazy to do, you should show up and deliver.”

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Dean looked to the side to see Billie standing by his bed looking pinched and annoyed.

“You took your time,” he said, knowing it would annoy her further and not caring.

She looked at the half empty tray in front of him and said, “I always figured it would be a monster that took you down, or alcohol poisoning, but I see that heart attack is a contender, too. Keep eating like that, I’ll be seeing you sooner than you think.”

Dean scooped up a large forkful of his breakfast and shoved it in his mouth then chewed loudly. “Hmm, good.”

Billie looked pointedly away and addressed Sam. “You did well to get the blade, though it’s only plated, not solid.”

“It’s still going to pierce his heart,” Dean said, unconcerned.

“It is,” she agreed. “You did well.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s easier to steal from a thirty-something man-child than you’d think. Especially when he’s asleep.”

She sneered at him. “Not hard for a normal person, no, but I thought it might challenge you, Dean. I know you have impulse control issues, and you go for the most extreme course of action. Lucky Sam was here to stop you killing yourself to talk to me.”

Sam’s eyebrows contracted. “Are you following us around, listening to us?”

“I caught the end of your discussion when I came to check in on your progress. I have far more interesting things to do than follow you two around, listening to your conversations about the best breakfast food.

Dean knew she’d been around longer than she’d said, and the idea creeped him out, but he wanted the information from her before he could tell her to get lost, so he took another bite of breakfast and looked away from her. 

“Okay,” Sam said doubtfully, then his expression became pinched again. “Did you know it was Charun?”

She looked amused. “I had an inkling.”

“And you didn’t tell us because…?” Sam asked, letting the question trail off.

“I didn’t want to spoil your moment of discovery.”

“If we’d known we might have been able to save Melinda,” Dean growled.

She looked unconcerned by his anger. “You couldn’t. She would still have died.”

“But she wouldn’t have ended up in hell,” Sam pointed out, looking as angry as Dean felt.

“That’s true,” she acknowledged, looking unconcerned. “Maybe I’d do something about it if I could, but I have no influence in Cipencel. I can’t even pass the gates. Only Vanth and Charun can.”

Dean was thinking how much he disliked her, or maybe hate was the right word now he’d heard the lack of compassion for Melinda in her voice, and she seemed to know it as she looked away with an entertained smile and addressed Sam. “You need the name of the next soul to be reaped.” She took a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her leather jacket and placed it on the table. “Her name is Mabel Winters and you’ll find her in the Lake View Retirement Home. You have until noon.”

Dean was pleased that they weren’t going to see another kid die. Melinda had been hard enough to witness. 

“And you can give yourself the advantage of keeping him earthbound for an hour with a simple incantation.” Her eyes flickered to Dean. “Even you should be able to handle it.”

“What is it?” Sam asked, ignoring the jab.

“You need three drops of your own blood in water, to say his name, and _Favincel.”_

Sam’s brow crinkled. “Favincel… To bind to earth?”

“Very good, Sam,” she said indulgently, and Dean was sure she was praising Sam to annoy him. “It will also stop him using his power to knock you over like skittles.”

“Is there a way to get it done sooner?” Sam asked. “Take out the risk to this woman? Can we summon him?”

“Sure, you’d need the ashes of a cursed fire, but that should be easy, right?” she said knowingly.

Sam sighed and looked at Dean who was hopeful that they could cancel the chances of this Mabel ending up in the same place as Melinda. “We can’t do it. It has to burn for twelve hours and needs ingredients we don’t have here.”

“For a good reason,” Billie said. “Cursed fires are used in the darkest magic.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said confidently. “We’ll get him before he can take anyone else.”

Sam nodded, apparently bolstered. “Yeah. We’ll be ready.”

Billie smirked. “I hope so. Cipencel really is a terrible place.”

Dean glared at her. “We get that, thanks.”

She narrowed her eyes and then disappeared without a sound. Dean stared at the place she had been for a moment, muttered, “Bitch,” and turned his attention to his now cooling breakfast. It wasn’t as good as it had been before Billie’s appearance had let it cool and let his mood turn bitter, but it was still awesome. For someone that ate fruit for breakfast, Sam had good taste picking food for other people. Dean owed him a salad sometime.

xXx

Dean pulled them up in front of the Lake View Retirement Home beside a bus emblazoned with the business’s logo and a woman being loaded inside along a wheelchair ramp. She looked a little nervous as she was pushed up at a steep angle, but Dean saw she was dressed for church with rosary beads in her hand, so he figured she had faith that she wouldn’t roll backwards and spill onto the gravel.

They climbed out and Sam looked around admiringly. Dean supposed if you did end up in one of these places—not that he was going to live long enough to need one—this wasn’t so bad. The gardens were well tended and there were benches to enjoy the sunshine. Dean thought it would be a nice place inside, too, like Oak Park where they’d met Eileen and Mildred. Through the trees that surrounded the building Dean could see the glint of light on water.

Sam adjusted his jacket and walked up to the door. They’d decided to dress a little smarter for this than they had the hospital, wanting to look like respectable visitors to an elderly resident, though they’d foregone ties. Dean had been encouraged to shave by Sam, informed that there was no point dressing up if he had the jawline of a Yorkshire terrier. Dean had grumbled but acquiesced in the end, knowing it was easier to go along with Sam when he started talking with forced patience. Dean would never admit he might have a point in that being well-groomed was more likely to get them a clear ride into the retirement home. 

Sam took the lead at the desk without encouragement, but Dean noticed he kept his dimples to himself this time. “Hi there,” he said. “We’re here to see Mabel White.”

The young woman behind the desk looked from Dean to Sam and said, “Have you visited before?”

Dean wondered if they were going to have trouble despite the suits and shave, but when Sam smiled a little wider and said, “We’ve not had the chance before today. We’re living out of state now, so we don’t have a chance to see family as much as we’d like. We’re in Illinois for a cousin’s wedding and thought we’d take the opportunity to swing by and see Great Aunt Mabel. We’re short on time though, so if it’s a problem we’ll call instead.”

“Oh no!” she said, sounding more upset than the situation really warranted. “Mabel always enjoys visits, especially the younger members of her family. Her daughter just left. It’s a shame you missed her, actually. She never mentioned a wedding though.”

“Different side of the family,” Sam lied smoothly.

“Ah, I see.” She nodded briskly. “Mabel is in room thirty-seven. If you take a right through those doors and follow the hall down to the sunroom, Mabel is just next door. We’ll be bringing coffees around soon, so if you’d like one, just let the server know.”

“We will,” Sam said. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course…” she said, eyeing Sam with a familiar rapt expression. 

She looked as though Sam’s increase in charm had affected her more than Dean had realized. What was it with him lately? Did stress related sleep-deprivation work on these people like some kind of catnip? He couldn’t see what was attractive about red-rimmed eyes, but he guessed women liked different things. Perhaps it gave him an air of vulnerability that they liked. 

Dean tugged Sam’s arm. “Come on, Sam, let’s go see Aunt Mabel.”

Sam raised a hand to the young woman and followed Dean through the indicated door and along a long hall with glass double doors leading into a bright room at the end.

“That went well, Casanova, but you think you’ve got enough charm in you for Mabel?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“I don’t know how to break it to you, Sammy, but she’s probably going to know we’re not family.”

Sam considered then grinned. “We’re genealogists distantly related to her and we want to talk about her life for our family tree.” When Dean looked doubtful, he went on confidently. “It’ll work. The older you get, the more you want to talk about the past.”

“That why you like it then?” Dean asked. “You are getting on in years. Does it feel good to talk about your glory days?”

“I don’t like it,” Sam said. “Because our past is pretty much loss and drama, but most people have normal lives. Besides, you’re four years older than me, Dean. If anyone should be reminiscing, it’s you.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Dean said sarcastically.

Sure, they had more loss and drama than most people’s families, but there were plenty of good times in there, too. When this was over, he was going to sit Sam down with a bottle of whiskey and remind him of that fact.

Sam stopped outside a room and knocked on the open door before entering, saying, “Mabel, we’re here to see you if that’s okay…”

There was no response and Dean followed Sam in, seeing the motionless woman sitting in a highbacked chair with her eyes closed. He thought Billie might have gotten her times wrong and the woman was already dead, when he noticed the rising and falling of her chest under the pink cardigan and he sighed with relief. She was just sleeping.

“There goes your family tree,” he said with a grin.

Sam nodded, looking satisfied. “It works out well for us. She’s not going to see Charun at all.”

Dean looked around the room, taking in the plush surrounding and guessing what the fees were for a place like this. It was a large room with large French doors that were open and bringing in the sounds of the outdoors, insects buzzing and the light breeze in the trees. There were no voices though, and Dean thought they would have a chance of getting Charun’s body out and undetected. He already knew what he was doing with it. There was no need to salt and burn a god as they had no soul to come back as a ghost, so he was going to weight it and dump it in the lake. A good anonymous resting place for the monster.

He sat down in the comfortable chair set at an angle to Mabel’s and looked at Sam who had perched on the edge of the bed and was staring out of the open doors. He looked thoughtful, which was sometimes a bad sign in Sam. His brain worked overtime compared to most people’s, and never more than when something was wrong with him. Maybe the mention of their past had dragged him down.

“Hey,” Dean said, snapping his fingers. “What’s up?”

Sam startled as if coming out of a daze and said, “I want to go see Mom while we’re here.”

Dean glowered. He’d thought this might come up while they were in the area, and Mary’s supposed grave was close, but Dean had no desire to visit it. There was nothing of their mother at all. All they achieved by being there was the reminder that there had been nothing of her left after Azazel’s visit.

“Or not,” Dean said.

“I know you don’t like it—“ 

“Because it’s an empty grave and a slab of marble,” Dean interjected.

“—but I like it.” 

“She’s not there, Sam,” Dean said, perhaps a little harsher than he’d intended.

“I know,” Sam said, his eyes lowered and sad. “But I feel closer to her there. I don’t have anything of her at all. No memories of my life with her or stories to tell. Before she saved us in our old house, I only knew what she looked like because of pictures; I had no idea what she sounded like even. But there’s this place I can go to remember, and that feels good. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“You haven’t been in damn years,” Dean said. “Not since we took on that revenant hunt.”

Sam looked away, “I’ve been back since.”

“You have? When?”

“After you went to hell. I needed to feel close to someone, and there was nowhere I could go to remember Dad, so I went to her. I think I needed to talk to someone else that would understand what it meant, but couldn’t talk back about it like Bobby would have done.”

Dean tried to imagine the scene, Sam talking to an empty grave about what had happened, and he couldn’t. He didn’t really want to. For Sam to have done that he would have been truly desperate for a connection, and Dean hadn’t been able to give it.

“And I went back after I got out of the Cage.”

“Without your soul?” Dean asked, surprised. He would have thought visiting family graves was the last thing he’d been thinking of in those soulless days.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I knew early on that something was really wrong with me, and I was trying to figure it out. After I saw you and felt nothing, I went to her grave, thinking that someone that was really gone would feel different. It didn’t. It was just marble to me then, too.”

Dean skipped over the fact Sam had been trying to figure out what was wrong with him and landed on the fact he’d seen Dean.

“You came to Cicero?” he asked.

Sam looked up, his brow creased. “Of course. It was pretty much the first thing I did. I wasn’t even aware anything was really wrong until then, it just felt like the next logical step to find you, but you were there, sitting down to dinner with…” He shook his head as if suddenly aware he’d come close to saying the forbidden names. “I saw that you were there and showing no sign of being in the life still, so I moved on. Samuel found me soon after, and I joined up with him and the rest of the Campbells.”

The fact that Sam had been so close in those dark days, when Dean had been bogged down by his grief and pain, felt wrong to Dean. Sure, he wouldn’t have had the brother that he needed if Sam had come to the door, but he would have had a version of him. That would have been better than what he had lived through at first in the early days. He could have got his soul back for him that much sooner, perhaps saving him from the torture it underwent while Sam’s body was topside.

It wasn’t Sam’s fault though. It hadn’t really been him that had watched him sitting down to dinner with Lisa and Ben without coming to him. He probably wouldn’t have seen how much Dean needed him even if he did have his soul—Dean had put on a good show for them—but the missed opportunity stung. Dean felt angry even as he thought of how different things could have been.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Sam said, and it took Dean a moment to realize he was still talking about Mary’s grave and not what had happened years ago. “I’ll take the Impala and be back in a couple hours.”

“No,” Dean said stiffly. “We’ll go together.”

Sam smiled. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean didn’t want to go there, but he understood a little better now. If Sam needed that connection with Mary and that was how he got it, it was what they were going to do. He was right, he had nothing of her but that grave, and that was a tragic thought; apart from the pair of them, she’d left nothing else on the earth when she died.

As the clock ticked closer to noon, the time assigned by Billie, Sam and Dean lay their preparations. Sam filled a glass with water and pricked his finger with the bronze dagger—Dean had volunteered him for the job as he’d done it once, though unintentionally. Sam pumped his fist occasionally to keep the blood flowing, and Dean took back the knife and tucked it between his leg and the side of the chair. 

They sat down again, trying to look as if they were relaxed while Mabel slept on, and refusing the coffee that was offered by a sweet-faced teenager that Dean guessed was volunteering there. It was almost noon when the door clicked open and the Charun entered. He was wearing a suit this time, achieving the respectable look Sam and Dean had been aiming for.

He didn’t seem to notice them at first, concentrating on closing the door behind him, but when he looked around and saw Sam and Dean on their feet and glowering at him, he sighed with almost theatrical disappointment.

“You again,” he said, obviously amused.

“Us,” Dean growled.

He raised a hand as if to knock them out of the way again, but Sam was already dripping his blood into the glass of water. “Charun flavincel!” he said in a tone of command.

Charun’s hand moved through the air but there was no force knocking them away this time.  He scowled at them and stalked toward Sam. Dean rushed between them, holding the dagger tight in his hand and aimed at Charun’s heart. Charun looked worried for a moment before he bowed over and knocked Dean away easily as if he was a four-hundred-pound lineman taking out the quarterback. Dean’s feet left the floor as he reeled backward, colliding hard with the wall and hitting his head. Just as it had in the hospital room, his vision wavered and his ears rang. He tried to scramble to his feet before he was all the way aware of his surroundings again, and overbalanced, still gripping the dagger that was their only hope.

“Got it!” Sam said, snatching the dagger out of his hand and running after Charun who was fleeing through the open doors.

Dean pushed up hard, noting in a peripheral way that the noise had woken Mabel and she was calling cautiously, “What’s happening?”

He didn’t answer. He ran out of the door after Sam and Charun, his heart pounding. He hoped that Sam would get the shot and take it. As much as he wanted to be the one to end the monster that had stolen Melinda away, he knew Sam was just as invested. As long as Charun was killed, it didn’t matter how it happened.

He couldn’t see Charun or Sam through the trees, but he ran in a straight line from the doors, hoping they’d done the same. Reaching deep into the trees he shouted for Sam and heard his calling back in a strained voice.  He sprinted toward the voice, his heart racing when he heard a shout of rage and the sound of flesh hitting something hard.

“Sam!” he shouted, his voice panicked now. A sensation that increased when Sam didn’t call back.

He saw a light in front of him through the trees, and he pelted towards it, his heart racing and his nerves taut. What he saw when he reached them made his heart fail and his voice come out strangled. “Sammy!”

Sam was on the ground, leaning against the tree he’d obviously been thrown into. At his side was the bloody dagger, but Charun was on his feet, the only sign of injury the bloody patch on the front of his shirt above his jacket. The light Dean could see was moving from Sam’s chest into Charun’s waiting hand.

“No! Sammy!” he cried.

Sam seemed to be looking at him, his eyebrows raised as if he was confused by what was happening to him. Dean ran at him, but it was too late. The light of Sam’s soul was already in Charun’s hand and he was running away. Dean knew a moment of indecision, whether to stay with Sam or go after Charun, but his hands and feet made the decision his heart couldn’t. He snatched up the blade and ran after Charun, knowing on some instinctual level that what he needed to do was stop the god if he was going to save Sam. 

“Come back, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted.

Unexpectedly, Charun stopped and turned to face him. Dean could see none of the light of Sam’s soul now. Charun looked like an ordinary man again as he smiled cruelly at Dean and said, “So you think you can do what the others failed at?”

“Give him back!” Dean shouted.

Charun raised his hands at his sides. “It’s too late. He’s already gone.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

Charun touched the bloody center of his chest. “In here, waiting to be delivered.”

“Give him back!” Dean shouted again.

“I can’t. He belongs to me now. There is no way to return him. Even if I could, why would I? You have nothing to threaten me with. It takes more than a plated toy to kill me. It needs to be as pure as I am.”

Incoherent with rage and fear, Dean ran at him and plunged the blade into his chest at the center of the bloody stain Sam had drawn. Charun grunted but didn’t fall. He pushed Dean back, knocking him down to lean against a tree, and pulled the blade from his chest. He looked at it a moment before throwing it on the twig strewn ground and laughing.

“I was going to take him to Cipencel no matter what,” he said. “But now I am going to take him alone. You can live. I can see that would be a greater torture than what awaits him.”

Dean scrambled to his feet and ran at the god, unsure of what he could do without the right weapon but needing to hurt him. Charun laughed and he shoved him away, unbalancing Dean so he fell back onto a tree and hit his head hard.

He thought for a moment he might be okay, that he could keep fighting, find a way to get Sam back, but the dizziness washed over him and his eyes dimmed. As his breaths became heavy, his last thought was one of defiance. He was not passing out now. He needed to get to Sam. As the darkness descended, he willed his body to be stronger.

Sam needed him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much themegalosaurus for creating the beautiful art in this chapter.

The light coming through the trees seemed too bright to Dean’s sensitive eyes when he woke, and he shaded them while trying to make sense of what was happening and where he was. He glanced at his watch and saw it was an hour past noon. He tried to remember what had happened to him. He knew from the aching knot on the back of his head that was tender when he reached to touch it that he had been knocked out, but by whom or what was a mystery.

One thing he did know was that he was alone. He looked around and searched for a sign of Sam, but there was none. He pushed up from the ground, gripping a tree for support as he got his legs under him, and then picked a direction and started walking.

He was worried about Sam. What if he was unconscious, too? Whatever had got Dean could have gotten him, too. Or he could have been taken. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had been snatched by a fugly. The fact Sam wasn’t there with him when he woke meant that _something_ had happened to him. He wouldn’t have left Dean alone.

He went on, spotting something ahead that looked hopeful. There was a form lying at the foot of a tree. As he got closer, he saw it was Sam and he wasn’t moving. Dean started to run, staggering as his swimming head tried to take his shaking legs down. It was only sheer will that got him to Sam before his knees buckled and he dropped down beside him.

“Dammit, Sam,” he said in his fear and frustration that he hadn’t been there to shield him from this. “Wake up now. I’m concussed and one of us needs to be able to drive.”

He patted Sam’s face and then froze, his heart skipping a beat before bounding on at an increased pace. Sam was cold. The day was mild and Sam was wearing his usual layers, so there was no reason for his skin to feel like ice, but it did. He forced himself to touch Sam’s face again, checking that he hadn’t imagined it, but he hadn’t: Sam was _cold._

He grabbed Sam’s shoulders and shook him. “Wake up, Sam!” he commanded. “Open your eyes, man. Now!”

Sam jostled without resistance, and though Dean’s mind knew what had happened, his heart refused to accept it. Sam was fine. He’d just been knocked out. Maybe he’d need a hospital, but it couldn’t be the thing he was scared of.

“Sam, please.” His voice was softer now, pleading.

When there wasn’t even a flicker of response, Dean forced himself to do the thing he was afraid of. He pressed his fingers to Sam’s throat and felt for a sign of life. He could find none, no matter how hard he pressed or the place he touched. Sam’s chest was still, too. He was dead.

“No,” he moaned. “Sammy.”

He lifted Sam gently and held him against his chest. Sam was heavy, a docile weight against him, and it made him felt sick. Memories started to return to him, coming slowly and brushing against his mind like moths investigating a lightbulb. They had been hunting Charun. He’d knocked Dean down and Sam had gone after him. When Dean had reached them, Sam had been sprawled against the tree and Sam’s soul had been…”

“No!” he growled. “Not that!”

Sam wasn’t just dead. His soul had been taken to the Underworld.

He buried his face in Sam’s shoulder and began to sob. His chest was on fire and his throat burned from the howl he had trapped there, refusing it release. He began to rock from back and forth, still gripping Sam to him, and he wished his heart would stop. Dying would be better, The Empty would be a blessing, even Hell would be preferable to what he was feeling already.

“Sammy,” he whispered. “Not like this. Please.”

He didn’t know how long passed as he sat rocking his brother’s body in his arms before he felt a presence join him and heard the crack of twigs as someone approached.

He lifted his head and saw Billie walking towards them. She didn’t look cruel or mocking at the scene in front of her, but she clearly didn’t care either.

“Help me,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, her tone inflectionless.  

“Please,” Dean begged, “I’ll do anything.”

“There is nothing I would want from you, even if there was something I could do. Rules are rules, Dean.”

Dean’s hand came up to cradle Sam’s head a moment, and then he gently lowered him to the ground. He got to his feet, not wanting to kneel in front her and asked, “Is he in The Empty?”

“No, he’s in Cipencel already. I can no longer feel his soul on this plane.”

“Then you can save him. You said no one comes back from The Empty, but he’s not there.”

“I warned you, Dean, there are no comebacks this time.”

“Go to hell!” Dean snapped.

Her face darkened, and her hands flexed as if she was fighting the urge to wrap them around his throat. “I am not the one in Hell,” she said darkly.

Dean swallowed down the horror. “You knew this would happen!” he accused. “You set us up, sending us after Charun with the wrong kind of blade. You knew it needed to be pure”

“How would I know it wouldn’t work?” she asked. “I have never killed an Etruscan god.” She smiled fiendishly. “Or did I know and send you after him to rid the world of one Winchester? I guess you’ll never know.”

Dean rushed after her, determined to find a way to make her hurt in some fractional way to how he was suffering. She turned and shoved him away, sending him flying to the ground for the third time that day. The jarring landing beside Sam made his head throb.

“You are no threat to me, Dean,” she said. “I am divine and you’re a human living on borrowed time.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he vowed.

She smirked. “That’s funny. I was going to say the same to you. Not today, as I know you will hurt far more here than anywhere else, but I am going to be the one to reap you when your time is up. And I will make sure you go to a place you can never see your brother again.”

Dean ran at her, but she disappeared with a laugh. Dean swore loudly and struck out a fist at a tree. The skin of his knuckles tore and burned, and he did it again. The physical pain felt better. It could not combat the agony of his loss, but it displaced it. He beat the tree until his knuckles were raw and the tree smeared with blood, and then, eventually spent,  he stopped, panting, and looked back.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said quietly, as if Sam was there to witness the venting of rage. He wouldn’t have approved of it. He would have stopped him, tried to make him talk instead of lash out. He would have looked so damn sad, and Dean would have felt the frustration that Sam didn’t understand striking out was all he could do. But Sam couldn’t do that now, and Dean had wasted precious moments by letting himself be selfish and think of himself. He needed to be helping Sam, not himself. 

He walked back to Sam and knelt beside him; he slipped off his jacket and took his phone from his pocket before folding the jacket and placing it under Sam’s head. He tilted Sam’s face slightly so he looked more natural, as if he was sleeping, and then dialed a number and lifted the phone to his ear. If the person he was calling couldn’t help, he didn’t know who he was going to next.

 _“Dean Winchester,”_ Crowley said in sneering tone. _“I wondered when you’d call. It’s been a while and I was due a migraine.”_

“I need your help,” Dean said quietly.

_“You need my help? What a shock. I guess I owe you after all the help you gave me, don’t I? Hold up. That can’t be right. You didn’t exactly come through for me when Lucifer was keeping me in a cage, making me clean the floor with my tongue, calling me puppy! Tell me, Dean, did you and the moose even realize that something had happened to me? Do you even know Lucifer is in your feathered friend, Castiel? Of course not. If it isn’t about you two and your insane obsession with each other, you don’t notice anything.”_

“I need your help,” Dean said again, the rest of Crowley’s words barely registering.

_“I’m already helping. I’m looking for something that can help with our Amara problem before she, you know, blinks out the universe.”_

 “If you want my help with her, you have to come now,” Dean said. “I’m in the woods behind the Lake View Retirement Home in Greenville, Illinois.”

Crowley’s sigh crackled over the line. _“Fine! I’ll be right“—_ he appeared in front of Dean—“ _here._ ”

Dean lowered the phone and looked up at Crowley as his eyes settled on Sam and his brow pinched together.

“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley said with a sigh. “There goes that idea. I was thinking the pair of you might actually be helpful for the whole saving the world thing, but Moose has bowed out and that always makes you useless. What’s the plan this time? You going to slip into another poor, innocent woman’s life and screw things for her and her kid, or are you mixing things up a little and swallowing a bullet?”

Dean ignored the jibes that he knew were designed to aggravate and said, “I want to make a deal.”

Crowley threw up his hands. “Or door number three, which always has a happy ending. What makes you think I’m going to make a deal with the man I’m relying on to use his twisted connection to take out Amara?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m not doing a thing for you,” Dean said, fisting his hands rather than reaching for Sam as he wanted. He wasn’t going to give Crowley anything more to mock, even though it felt better to have some form of contact with Sam. He would beg and plead, but he knew it wouldn’t help his cause. He had to make Crowley see that saving Sam would serve his own ends. Crowley would do nothing for them otherwise.

“Make a deal that lasts until Amara is stopped,” Dean said. “After that, you can do anything you want to me.”

“And when your brother finds a way to break _that_ deal?” Crowley asked. “He found a way to get that mark off your arm. I’m not ruling anything out in future.”

“Make sure he can’t,” Dean said, “Put what you like in the contract; just give me Sam back.”

Crowley sighed heavily. “I guess it’s the only option really. I can’t see any other way of making you knuckle down and focus on the important things.” He rolled his shoulders. “So, what happened to him?”

“Charun took his soul,” Dean said quietly, unable to stem the flow of horror he felt at the memory of what the god had done, what he had been too slow to stop.

“Oh,” Crowley said, brow furrowing.

“Oh what?”

“Charun,” Crowley said. “I know him. We’re old drinking buddies—got a lot in common with where our homes lie. He always was grabby when it came to souls, but you and the moose must have really annoyed him off if he took someone outside of his brief. You two aren’t descendants. How did you piss him off?”

“He was already taking the wrong souls,” Dean said. “We just tried to stop him.”

“Well that would piss him off,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “But if it was him that took Sam’s soul, it’s in Cipencel now.”

“That’s what Billie said.”  

“Which means no deal.” Crowley looked genuinely disappointed. “I don’t have a key to that particular door.”

Dean’s heart began to race again as panic swept through him. “No! You have to! There’s no one else.”

“There’s no one at all,” Crowley corrected. “You can’t bring life from that place. It’s a one-way ticket if you’re taken.”

“You have to!” Dean said again. “Sam is the one that’s going to stop Amara. I can’t. She has this hold over me.”

Crowley groaned. “That’s awesome. You’re The Darkness’ bitch and the moose is dead. This day really couldn’t get any better.”

“Save Sam and he can do it!” Dean said, pleading seeping into his voice now against his best efforts.

“I _can’t_ ,” Crowley said, raking a hand over his face with obvious frustration. “There is nothing I can do to get him out of there. You’re going to have to break this hold Amara has over you and take care of her yourself. It’s obviously not perfect, but we’re not exactly overloaded with options here, are we?”

“Amara!” Dean snapped. “You really think I can worry about her without Sam?”

“I think you’re going to have to. There’s nothing that can bring Sam back now. You’re going to have to deal with what’s left of him and then get back to doing what matters.”

“Sam matters!”

“To you, yes, but to the world he’s just another insignificant death to add to the count of the day. What matters to the world is that you get off your ass and do what you need to do.”

“I am not doing anything without—“

Crowley cut him off, raising a hand. “Without your brother, I know. You feel like that now, but you are going to change your mind. You’re going to realize that this is what he’d want you to do and you’re going to suck it up and get on with it. There is nothing _anyone_ can do for him, Dean. Sooner you accept that, the sooner we can save the world.” He looked down at Sam with a strange expression and said, “I am sorry, but I can’t help.”

If Dean didn’t know him better, he would have believed Crowley meant it. As it was, he knew Crowley was only bothered about stopping Amara for his own reasons, and they were not for the good of mankind.  

“Go,” Dean said dully. “Leave us alone.”

“Happy to,” Crowley said. “I’ll be in touch.” He hesitated. “Do yourself a favor, Dean, deal with the body before things get nasty.”

He disappeared, and Dean drew a shaky breath. He laid a hand on Sam’s still chest, and a tear tracked down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said, his voice strangled. “I’m so sorry.”

xXx

The sun was starting to sink in the sky, and Dean was sitting with Sam still.

He’d moved him from the woods to an isolated part of the lake as he didn’t want anyone stumbling across them there. The Impala was parked at the end of a long track a mile away, and though Dean knew he would have to go back there soon to get the tools he needed, he wasn’t ready to leave Sam yet.

He liked the lake better than the woods. Though he could barely take it in, he knew this place was more beautiful than the woods could have been. It was the kind of place Sam would have liked. He had always enjoyed nature crap, finding things to stop and admire as they tracked through the forest on the way to kill a wendigo. Dean had teased him about it. He would have given anything to be able to tease him again.

Sam was wrapped in blankets now, but that was the extent of Dean’s ability to plan ahead. He knew that he needed to do as Crowley instructed, to lay Sam to rest, but he wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. He couldn’t burn him; it would feel too final. Though Billie and Crowley had both failed to help him, he had to believe there was something else he could do for him. To let himself believe different would be to give up on him.

He hated everything and everyone in that moment. He hated Billie for setting them up with this hunt, Crowley for not being able to deal, Castiel for letting Lucifer out and not being there to stop this from happening. He even hated Sam for dying the way he had. They should have stayed together, but Sam had run after Charun, leaving Dean behind, and it had cost him more than his life. If he had waited for Dean, perhaps Charun would have attacked him instead. He would be the one in Cipencel and Sam would be there now, with Dean’s body, thinking the same tangled thoughts. Dean could have handled the Underworld. He could not handle the hell the world would become without his brother. 

The sun sank lower, and Dean knew what he had to do next. It was the last thing he could do for Sam, and he was going to do it right.

He glanced at the blanket-wrapped body and said, “I’m coming back,” before getting to his feet and heading back to the car.

When he reached it, he opened the trunk and lifted the false base. There was a wealth of weapons there that he wished he could be reaching for—to have something to fight—but he needed what lay beneath the guns, blades and miscellaneous items that they used for their hunting lives. He took out the shovel and dropped the false bottom down again. He slammed the trunk and started back toward the lake.

The sun had sunk further, and the sky was beginning to streak with orange and red. He looked up at it for a moment and then glanced around for a place to dig. There was a small hill that someone would be able to sit on and have a better vantage point of the view, and Dean went there and took a breath before breaking the ground with the shovel and beginning to dig.

He wished he could do it properly, a real coffin in a real cemetery. He would take Sam to the graveyard where Mary’s marker stood and bury him as close as he could to the place he’d said he felt connected to her. He couldn’t, though. The turned earth would be noticed and they’d dig Sam up again. Dean couldn’t let that happen. Sam needed to be left to rest properly. 

His injured knuckles throbbed as he dug, and his face lined with tears. He thought it would have to stop eventually, this wetness that painted his face, but it didn’t cease. Sometimes they were silent, just falling as he worked, but other times he would have to stop as his chest convulsed and his shoulders shook with sobs. Dark truly fell, but still he dug. He wanted it deep and sloped so he could carry him in. The idea of rolling Sam inside, or worse, dropping him as if he was nothing, was abhorrent. Sam wasn’t nothing. He was everything and Dean wasn’t going to ignore that for ease.

When the grave was finally readyhe walked out of it along the slope he’d created and went to Sam. The blankets were wrapped tight around him, and Dean had bound them with ropes. He was as protected from the earth that was going to surround him as it was possible to be.

He lifted him into his arms and carried him into the grave. He held him close a moment, taking his last comfort, and then gently lowered him down. He straightened him and then left the grave for the last time. He stopped a moment and looked up at the sky with its predawn streaks of cloud and then began the task of covering Sam. When the grave was just a small mound of earth, he dusted off his hands and sat down beside it. He wasn’t ready to leave yet.  It would not be the last time he was here. He would come back when it was time to save Sam. He would take him from the grave and prepare him for life again. But that couldn’t happen until he had a way to save him.

 

” alt=“image” />

He sat there in silence until the sky was light again, and his burning eyes had finally dried. He knew it would not be the last time he wept, but for now he felt more in control. He got to his feet and stared at the grave for a moment before turning and freezing as he saw the person that was watching him. Vanth.

He felt a thrill of anger at the sight of her. She had done this to them. If she had been able to control her brother, to stop him herself, they would never have needed to come to this damn town and Sam would never have died. They would still be in the bunker, looking for way to get Castiel back, trying to come up with something to stop Amara. They would have been together.

“Look what he did!” he said harshly, pointing at the grave. “Sammy wasn’t even dying! He killed him!”

She nodded slowly, her eyes sad. “I know. I’m very sorry.”

“Sorry!” Dean scoffed. “Sorry doesn’t bring back my brother. Sorry is nothing.”

She walked a little closer and Dean stepped instinctually between her and the grave. She stopped and held up her hands as if to indicate she meant no harm. Dean knew that already. There was nothing she could do to him now Sam was dead. There was nothing anyone could do to him that would be worse.

“You cared about him very much,” she stated.

“You know who we are. You know I do.”

“I only know your reputations, what a danger you are to my kind. I know very little about you and who you are to each other. He was your brother…”

She let it trail off as if inviting Dean to tell her more. He didn’t want to, she deserved to know nothing about them, but he found himself talking anyway, sharing his loss with the practical stranger.

“He was more than just my brother. He was everything. We lost everything, everyone we love, even Cas, but we had each other. He was my responsibility. I’ve been taking care of him since he was six months old, and because of your brother, I let him down. He’s dead now, and I couldn’t fix it. Crowley says he can’t fix it. He can’t bring him back.”

“Crowley is the King of Hell I’ve heard of?” she asked.

“Yes. I wanted to deal with him, but he said he couldn’t get into Cipencel.”

“He can’t,” she agreed. “Only Charun and I have access to that place.”

Dean felt a surge of something like hope but not quite as intense. He was braced for disappointment. “Can you get him back for me? I’ll do anything.”

“I can’t bring life,” she said. “No one can bring life to a soul taken by Charun.”

Dean sighed. Of course she couldn’t. That would involve luck and his family had none of that in their lives. He looked away from her.

“Have you always been close?” she asked.

Confused by the question but spurred to answer in hopes that she still might be able to help in some way, Dean answered. “Always. Even when we weren’t together, we were close. We had a shared heaven when we were dumped there.”

“Soulmates,” she whispered.

“Call it what you’d like,” Dean said. “It was just who we were. Neither of us needed a name for it.”

Her eyes were wide and for a moment Dean thought she was excited, but her expression quickly smoothed and she looked somber again.

“I’m killing your brother,” Dean said. “I’m getting a real bronze blade and I am stabbing that bastard in the heart.”

“I know,” she said. “I know I can’t persuade you otherwise after what he did. You’re probably even right. He did something unforgivable, taking a life as well as a soul. I will help you if I can.”

Dean wanted to tell her he needed no help, to refuse to accept it from the sister of the monster that had killed Sam, but he knew it would be churlish. If she could help him, he had to take it. Charun needed to die.  As long as it was him that did it—sank the blade into his chest and ended his life—he didn’t care who else helped it happen.

She nodded to herself, seeming to be coming to some decision. “There is something I need to do. I will see you again, Dean.”

Dean was on the verge of answering, but she was already gone. He cursed. She said she’d help and then she’d disappeared. How exactly did that count as helping? She had let him down like everyone else. Billie, Crowley, Castiel, even Sam. If Sam had just waited for him instead of running after Charun with that cheap dagger, none of this would have happened.

He turned back to the grave and fisted his hands. “Dammit, Sam!” he shouted, his entire body taut with anger.

There was a laugh behind him and he spun around, his eyes wide and burning as he took in the person striding towards him.

“Are you seriously pissed at me right now?” Sam asked.

Dean drew a shaky breath, turning to look at the grave behind him and his brother striding towards him, his mind reeling. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam came to a stop a few feet from Dean and raised his hands. “Are you going to say something?”

“Sammy?” Dean said cautiously, his eyes still darting between the new grave and his brother. 

Sam ducked his head and smiled. “Yeah. It’s really me.”

Dean took two steps forward, his hand outstretched to touch his brother, and then he abandoned restraint and threw his arms around him. His hands moved through the air without resistance though, as if Sam was made of smoke. He staggered back, horrified, and saw that Sam looked sad now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess there’s no touching.”

“Am I crazy?” Dean asked, vocalizing his worst fear: that what had happened had driven him out of his mind.

“I don’t think so, no more than usual anyway. I am here, but I’m just not all the way here. At least I think I am. If you are, I’m all in your head and I don’t know it.”

“A ghost?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. No one told me what I was.”

Dean examined him closely. Sam didn’t look like a ghost; he wasn’t obviously different in that way, but there was something. He looked wrong though. He didn’t cast a shadow and the colors of his skin and the clothes he was wearing were a little muted. Dean hadn’t noticed it before as he had been so consumed with the fact he could see him at all. He was there, but not quite.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“After I died?” Sam asked, and Dean winced at the easy way he said it, as if it wasn’t one of the worst things to happen in Dean’s life. “I was in Cipencel, and then I woke up back there and came to you. I just knew where to go, and then I heard you talking.” He smiled again, though it looked a little forced. “Pissed at me.”

“I’m not really,” Dean said quickly, wanting no tension to stand between them.

“You were,” Sam argued. “And I get it. I shouldn’t have trusted the plated blade to get the job done. We should have gone back to the bunker to get the solid one. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have made sure we did. I was just focused on stopping Charun before he took anyone else that it made me sloppy. That was my bad.”

“I thought it would work, too. It was on both of us. It’s on me.”

Sam shrugged as if unconcerned as he said, “It’s not so bad. It didn’t hurt and I’m here now, or not here. Whatever I am, it’s better than where I was before.”

Dean hated to think of Sam in that place, and he didn’t want to hurt him further by making him talk about it, but he needed to know what it had been like for the almost full day he spent there. 

“Was it as bad as Billie said?”

Sam considered, brows pinched together. “It was bad, but not as bad as the Cage. Time moved different there, like Hell, so it felt like weeks. How long was I gone?”

“Almost a day.”

Sam grimaced. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun.”

“Don’t do that,” Dean said harshly. “Don’t make it seem like less than it was.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, and though he sounded repentant, his jaw clenched and Dean could see a muscle working there. He wasn’t as sorry as he was scared, and Dean knew why. Perhaps it hadn’t been as bad the Cage, but it had been bad enough to scar him with the memory of it.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “I’m fine. I don’t feel normal, but I feel okay.”

“How does it feel?”

Sam hesitated a moment before answering. “Remember when Cas set us up with the reaper seal hunt? The one with the dead kid and Tessa. The one when Death kinda took a holiday in that town and Pamela got us in the veil.”

“You feel like you did when we were in the _veil_?” Dean had hated that, feeling like he didn’t belong.

Sam nodded. “Maybe a little less even. I don’t really feel substantial. Like I could be swept away.” He scuffed his feet in the dirt, making small divots in the earth. “Huh. I guess I’m more here that I thought.”

Dean frowned and then gasped as Sam stepped around him and bent to pick up a handful of the loose earth on his grave. He let it drift through his hands and then smile.

“I guess I can affect things if they’re not living. That’s good.”

“Don’t do that!” Dean snapped, unable to bear the sight of Sam touching his own grave as if it was nothing. 

Sam cocked his head. “It’s just a grave, Dean, meat and dirt. It’s not really me.”

“I know,” Dean said, not altogether honestly. “It’s just weird.”

Sam brushed off his hands and smiled slightly. “I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” Dean said, sounding more serious than he intended.

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m with you, Dean. Just not quite _here._ ”

Dean hated that he felt that way, that it was hard for him to just be, but he was so damn happy to have him back that he couldn’t feel guilty about it. He had thought he’d lost him, and despite what he’d promised himself about getting Sam back, he believed Vanth when she said no one could bring life after Charun took Sam. The fact he was there when even an hour ago all had seemed hopeless and he couldn’t even think clearly, was incredible. He had never felt such heady relief before.

He was scared that it wouldn’t last, too. What if they’d been given this moment to say goodbye? If Sam went again, he thought he really would lose his mind. He had so much he needed to say if this was the last time, but he couldn’t say any of it. To do that would be to encourage Sam’s exit. If he could only stay until Dean allowed himself to say goodbye, he would never say it. Everything he needed to say to his brother would have to remain unsaid.

“We need to focus on what happens next,” Dean stated seriously. “We need to get the real blade and kill Charun before he can drag someone else to that place.”

“Can you do that?”

Dean’s jaw jutted out. “Of course I can. I’m not scared of him.”

“That’s good,” Sam said. “But what if he kills you? There will be no one left to stop Amara.”

“He won’t kill me,” Dean said. “You got the shot in before he got you, and I got him after. If we’d had the right blade, he’d be dead already. He’s not as tough as he thinks when he can’t wipe us out with his mind. I’ll get him.”

“Good,” Sam said. “I don’t want anyone else to end up in that place.”

He looked scared again, and Dean wished he had the words to make it right. He wanted to reassure Sam he was never going back there, but he couldn’t without risking a lie. There was a chance he could be taken back. He didn’t know how much power Vanth had to keep him here, and he was sure that it was her that had brought Sam back. She had disappeared fast and Sam was back almost straight after. 

“We should go,” Sam said. “We’ll get back faster if we leave now.”

Dean nodded. “Sure.” He was glad to have purpose again, some way to move forward and prepare him to kill Charun.

He turned away from the grave and then stopped as he saw the woman that had been witnessing their conversation. It was Vanth and she looked happy, her eyes bright and smile satisfied, a vast difference to how she’d looked when Dean had seen her last.

Sam smiled at her and then it became quizzical as Dean asked, “Did you do this? Did you bring him back?”

“Yes,” she said. “There was a small window of chance, and I took it. Charun was injured and he hadn’t stayed in Cipencel after taking Sam there. He wanted to heal faster, and that place is not one of healing. I was able to pass the gates without him barring them and find Sam.”

“Thank you,” Dean said fervently.

She looked pleased.

“Can you do it for the others he’s taken?” Sam asked. “For Melinda?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Your situation was unique. It was your connection that enabled me to bring Sam back. Only soulmates can be tethered to each other.”

Dean had never thought much about the fact they were apparently soulmates, as all he’d known about it was that it would give them a shared heaven, and what he’d seen of that hadn’t exactly been good. He appreciated it more than anything now that he knew it was that connection that had enabled Sam to be there with him.  

“How long will it last?” Sam asked.

Dean felt sorrow at the fact Sam’s thought had been tracking his when he’d worried he might not have as long with him as he needed. It had been bad enough for him knowing that Sam could disappear again and end up in that place, but it would have been so much worse for Sam knowing where he would end up and exactly what awaited him there. 

“As long as Dean does,” she said.

“And he’ll be able to stay with me?” Dean asked. “He’s not going to disappear into the Veil?”

“He _is_ you,” she replied. “He won’t go to the veil.”

 “Can you make him more…substantial?” Dean asked. He wanted Sam to feel more present than he said he did now. “People are going to notice something is wrong if he looks like this.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have used the extent of my power to do this much for him. But no one else will see him but you. Or me and Charun,” she amended. “It takes more than normal perception.”

“What about Cas? He’s an angel,” Sam explained. “And right now, he’s got an archangel in him. Can they see me?”

“No. Nor can the King of Hell. Charun and I can see you as it is your soul that is tethered here, and souls are our life occupation. No one else will notice you.”

“That’s going to be inconvenient,” Sam said lightly.

Dean could understand why it would be a problem for Sam, and for him, but he wasn’t willing to be bitter about something like that when he had Sam himself. He had more than he’d dreamed of when the sun rose that morning, and he wasn’t going to push for more. Though perhaps it could even be useful. Sam was going to be amazing at covert ops and gathering the intel they needed now.

An idea seemed to occur to Sam. His eyebrows rose and he looked hopeful. “Can you do anything to an archangel? We need to get one out of our friend, Cas, and we could do with some help.”

Dean was surprised that Sam was focused on Castiel now. He had seemed more angry than worried before, and he’d wanted to take a hunt rather than keep looking for a way to get him back. Dean would have expected him to have other concerns than Castiel now that he was back in this strange half-life.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “The last time my fellows went up against an archangel, they were all killed.”

Dean remembered that well. Lucifer had slaughtered the gods in Elysian Fields.

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding disappointed.

“What about Charun?” Dean asked. “We’ve got the bronze blade, but we’ll need to find him. A reaper said we could summon him with the ashes of some fire. Or do you know where he’ll be next? Can you find the next death?”

“I know who is going to die,” she said. “Charun and I can sense a death approaching, and by seeing the soul know when it will come, but it would be easier for you to summon him so you can control the location. As long as you’re within the area he is on Earth, you can summon him with the ashes of a cursed fire soaked in flowing water and add three drops of blood. Say his name, and he will come. It will bring him from Cipencel, too. You need to be careful, though.” She looked intensely at Dean. “He is very dangerous.”

Dean didn’t need the warning. He had seen Charun kill his brother only a day ago. He wasn’t going to underestimate him, but he wasn’t going to fail, either. He was going to kill Charun with joy. He deserved it for what he’d done.

“I know he’s dangerous,” he said. “But I know I am, too. After what he did to Sammy, I’ve never been more dangerous.” 

She looked him in the eye and nodded. “I believe you. If you need me, you can use the same spell with the ashes of a blessed fire. Do you know how to build one?”

“Yarrow, Yerba santa, thistle?” Sam asked.

“And pure sea salt,” she said.

Dean glanced at Sam. “We have all that, right?”

“Yeah. We’ve got it in the lab.”

“Then we’ve got it,” Dean said. “Thank you, Vanth.” He looked at Sam, taking in his brother’s smile, and said, “For everything.”

“I am sorry I can’t do more,” she said. 

She looked from Sam to Dean, smiled slightly, and then disappeared.

Dean looked back at Sam’s grave, still feeling strange about leaving it, and then forced himself to start walking. “Come on, Sammy,” he said. “Let’s get home.”

Sam walked at his side, his footsteps pushing up small clouds of dust that were the only physical sign to the rest of the world that he was there. 

xXx

Dean parked them Impala outside of the front door of the bunker, not wanting to bother to get it into the garage since they would be leaving again so soon, and let them in. Sam walked ahead of him down the stairs into the map room, looking around.

Dean wondered if it was different for him to be here now. Did it feel the same coming back in his new diminished form? Did he see the places he’d walked as a living man and now think of what his life was?

Dean didn’t know how to ask, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“So, this fire…” Dean said to distract them both. “How do we do it?”

“We need black salt, wormwood, rue and arnica. It has to burn for twelve hours with coal. We’ve got all the ingredients in the lab. I’ll make a blessed fire, too, in case we need Vanth again.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dean said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to get something to eat and then sleep.”

“I’m not hungry,” Dean protested. He had gone past hunger into the state of nausea that made his stomach roll at the thought of eating, even though he knew the only way to cure it was to eat.

“You are,” Sam argued. “And you’re exhausted. Go make yourself something and then go to bed. We can’t do anything until we have the ashes anyway, so all we’re going to do it sit around waiting.”

“It’s four in the afternoon, Sammy. I’m not having a nap.”

“You’re not,” Sam agreed. “You’re going to have a decent night’s sleep. When did you last do that?”

Dean couldn’t even remember. He was used to short sleep rations, but it felt like he’d not rested properly since before the mark was off his arm. There had always been something to keep him up at night, things that were even less than he was dealing with now. Sam had died. He was back in this ethereal form, but Dean was still going to be haunted by the memory of seeing his soul taken, the life being stolen, by Charun. All that awaited him when he slept was nightmares.

But he knew that, nightmares or not, he needed to sleep some. He had another eight-hour drive back to Illinois waiting for him when they had the ashes, and he needed to be at the top of his game to face Charun.

Sam nodded, looking satisfied, and said, “Get something to eat and then crash. I’ll be in the lab starting fires.”

Dean forced a smile for his attempt at humor and then a problem occurred to him. “Can you even be that far away from me? I thought we were tethered or whatever.”

“I think it was more metaphorical than physical. We’ll try though.”

Sam walked away to the hall that led to the lab and raised a hand as he reached the door. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you in the morning.” He carried on walking, and Dean watched until he was out of sight. He thought the tightness he felt in his chest was less about the distance between them and the bond they had than the fact the last time Sam had been out of sight, he died.

He turned reluctantly and made slow progress to the kitchen. It was untouched since they’d last been there, the dirty coffee cups were beside the sink, waiting to be washed, and the half empty six-pack of beer was on the counter from where Sam had forgotten to put it away.

Dean picked it up and placed it back in the fridge. He stopped, staring at the foods on offer, thinking that they needed to make a run by the store, his hand reaching for a package of pastrami.

 _He_ would have to go to the store. _He_ would need to choose what to buy as he was the only one that would be eating it. The small container of blueberries and the lettuce and tomatoes in the crisper would be thrown in the bin and never replaced because they wouldn’t be eaten. Sam would never need them again. Dean couldn’t tease him about his rabbit food or make Sam the burgers he loved and would only eat when Dean made them because there would be no point. Those parts of life were over for Sam. He would never eat or sleep again. He would never have a conversation with anyone but Dean. No one would see him. He would just be a phantom at Dean’s side.

Dean slammed the fridge closed and turned away. Though he needed to eat, he couldn’t bear even the thought of it now. He was consumed by the injustice of it all. Sam had been trying to save people’s souls from Cipencel, and he’d ended up there himself. He had been pulled out and he was there, but he didn’t feel it properly. And this would last as long as Dean did. The remainder of his life would be just Dean and him. And then, when Dean died, what would happen? Would Dean be able to keep him out of the underworld still, or would be dragged back there?

Dean gripped the sides of the fridge and banged his forehead lightly against the metal door. His still-healing headwound throbbed, and he knew he was being weak again, letting Sam down, but he also knew Sam was too far away to hear him. He wouldn’t know.

There was so much Sam could not know or do now, so many things he couldn’t experience again, because he _was_ dead. He was there with Dean still, protecting him from the worst of his grief, but he wasn’t living.

And the worst part, the thing that made Dean feel like an even bigger asshole, was that he was happy. He had some form of his brother back and that couldn’t outweigh what Sam was going through.

He was sickened by himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Before they’d left Lebanon, Dean had filled two bottles with water from the stream that flowed behind the bunker as the second ingredient of the spell. With that, the carefully labelled ashes Sam had created during the night while Dean slept restlessly, and the bronze dagger that would both draw Dean’s blood and kill Charun. Dean thought they were ready.

He definitely felt ready to kill.

Though his sleep had been restless, he’d stayed in bed through the night and into the next day before finally deciding he’d had enough of tossing and turning, snatching brief hours of sleep dogged by nightmares, and being torn between joy and despair.

Dean and Sam had driven back to Greenville and set up close to the lake where Dean had buried Sam. Sam hadn’t questioned it, which Dean was grateful about as he had his reasons. He just wasn’t able to share them yet for fear of devastating them both after.

The drive to Illinois had given him enough time to allow his anger and hatred toward Charun to build to fever pitch and it was all he could do to keep close to the speed limit as he drove through the busy streets of Greenville and not risk the other people on the road, going about their normal lives without murder on their minds.

Sam tipped the water into the bowl holding the ashes propped on a fallen tree by the lake and said, “It’s time to bleed, Dean.”

Dean picked up the bronze dagger and hesitated with it pressed to his fingertip, biting his lip.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked. “Aren’t you ready?”

“I’m ready to kill him,” Dean growled.

What he wasn’t ready for was the possibility of disappointment as he was holding a secret in his heart. He was hoping that killing Charun would undo what he had done to Sam, making him whole again. Perhaps if the one that had stolen his soul was killed, Sam could come back. Maybe it was stupid to hope it, but he was taking what hope he could lately.

He pricked his finger and dripped three drops of blood into the bowl of water and ashes, making his voice loud and commanding as he said, “Charun!”

He arrived without a sound, and for a moment all Dean heard was the pounding of his heart in his ears. But then Charun laughed and Dean’s heightened senses returned, drawing in the smells of the lake and the sound and feel of the wind that whispered in the trees and blew over his face. His muscles tautened and at Sam’s softly spoken reminder he quickly dripped blood into the tin mug of water they’d prepared and said, “Charun Flavincel!” 

Charun flexed his shoulders and said, “You can bind me, but you cannot beat me. I am going to be the victor here. Do you feel ready to die, Dean Winchester? Yes, I know who you are. I have followed the story of you and your brother for some time, ever since the rumors of your brutal attack on Hold Nickar surfaced.”

Dean remembered the name from a long time ago, but he couldn’t remember from where. Not that it mattered, though Sam seemed to think it did. Or perhaps he was just so used to providing information he couldn’t help himself.

“The Carrigans in Michigan—that hunt we took during Christmas.”

“That’s right,” Charun said. “He was living a quiet life before you two murdered him.”

“He was a monster,” Sam said harshly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Like you.”

“Am I really a monster?” he asked. “I have not stuffed you back in Cipencel yet, have I? Just because Vanth snatched you out of my kingdom doesn’t mean I can’t drag you back.”

Dean’s heart skipped and then began to race. He’d not known that was an option. He’d been reassured after they’d spoken to Vanth that Sam was going to be able to stay with him. The fact he might not be able to stay was as frightening as it was devastating. It made his determination to kill Charun even greater, though that would have seemed impossible before.

Dean’s lip curled back in a snarl. “You’re not touching him.” 

“I’m not touching him again, you mean. I have already taken the best from him. Would you like to hear how it felt to drag out his soul and stop his heart? It was hot, Dean, feverish even: a sick thing, mutilated beyond repair and barely alive at all. I couldn’t wait to get it out of me, to dump it into Cipencel.”

Enraged, Dean raised the bronze dagger and ran at him. Charun laughed as he approached and grabbed at him almost lazily, taking him by the throat and lifting him in the air as he walked to the closest tree and slammed him into it. Dean’s head thudded against the bark and his vision flickered as the dagger slipped from his nerveless fingers.

“Would you like to say goodbye to your brother?” Charun asked.

Dean had no oxygen to speak as Charun’s fingers were clamping down on this windpipe, blocking his ability to draw air. That was bad, but what was worse was the heat he could feel rising it his chest as his soul was drawn out of him.

“That’s right,” Charun crooned. “Come here.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted, and Dean felt something cold slap into his hand. His fingers curled around it automatically, and he realized Sam had given him the dagger.

With his heart pounding in his ears, his lungs empty and the warmth of his soul slowly being drawn out of him, Dean lifted the dagger between them and thrust it into Charun’s chest. He had no idea if he’d hit the heart, but for that moment it didn’t even matter. All that registered with him was the fact Charun had released his throat so he could respire air and the warmth that had been leaving him had returned, sinking back into him and settling in its place. Charun had not gotten his soul.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice panicked.

Dean was still trying to regulate his breathing so was unable to talk, but he nodded and held up a hand to indicate he was okay.

“You did it, Dean!” Sam said fervently.

Dean straightened up and saw that Charun was staggering back to the edge of the lake, grabbing at the dagger that was protruding from his chest at the center of his heart. He couldn’t seem to find purchase on it, and Dean smiled grimly, using his first words since his near strangulation to say, “Goodbye, you son of a bitch.”

Flames flickered around Charun’s ankles and rose up his legs and stomach to his chest and then head. The fire didn’t to be eating him the way it did a ghost; it was more that it was cremating him at an incredible pace, turning him to ashes that drifted away on the lake. The dagger dropped from his chest as his flesh and bone was turned to ash, and Charun reached out a burning hand to them as if pleading for help.

Dean watched it happen with a smile on his face. As the last of the god became ash and drifted away, he laughed harshly. “I was planning to dump his body in the lake anyway. That just saved me the job.”

He walked forward and picked up the dagger, despite Sam’s warnings that it was going to burn him. “It’s cold,” he said. “That wasn’t real fire.” He tucked the blade into his jacket and said, “You okay, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, fine. You?”

Dean started to nod and then he stopped and sighed as the problem with the scene occurred to him. Sam was still standing in front of him, ethereal looking and not himself. It hadn’t worked. Charun had died but Sam still wasn’t back.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“I might be dead, but I still know when you’re lying,” Sam said with a small smile.

It was the way he said it, as if his death didn’t matter, that spurred Dean into speech. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be different.”

Sam frowned, cocking his head, and then he seemed to understand as he sagged. “You thought killing him would bring me back.”

Dean averted his eyes and nodded.

“Life doesn’t work like that, Dean,” he said. “If it was an option, Vanth would have told us. You know that.”

 “I do,” Dean said bitterly, walking away and tipping the bowl of ashy water and the tin cup onto the ground.

“It would have come at a price,” Sam went on. “It always does. I’m not willing to let my life cost someone else again.”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t without revealing to his brother how deep in it he was. He couldn’t say with confidence that he wouldn’t take Sam’s life over someone else’s. He would definitely give his own for Sam. He’d tried. 

“But he’s dead,” Sam said bracingly. “You did good. He’s not dragging off any more souls.”

“You’re right,” Dean said tiredly. “He’s not.”

He looked at Sam who was grinning, his mood lifted by his success.

“We did good. If you hadn’t got me the blade, I’d be dead.”

“You’d be worse,” Sam pointed out.  “We both would.”

For a moment they were both silent, Dean thinking of the fate that would have awaited them both in Cipencel. Sam broke it by clearing his throat and saying, “We should get out of here.”

Dean’s eyes flickered to the grave and he said. “Yeah, we will, just give me a minute. I’m still not sure my throat isn’t going to swell shut.” Sam looked worried and Dean raised a hand. “I’m kidding, but I do need a minute.”

He put the tin cup into the bowl and then went to the small hill where Sam’s grave sat. He sat down beside it and looked out over the lake. After a moment’s hesitation, Sam sat down beside him and said, “It’s nice here.”

Dean smiled slightly. He was right. This was the right place to have brought Sam.

“It is,” he agreed. “Full of nature crap for you to enjoy.”

“It’s not crap, Dean…” Sam started, and Dean let his words rush over him as he began to extoll the virtues of taking time to appreciate nature.

If Sam wanted to appreciate nature, Dean would make sure he had a chance. He would do whatever he could to make this easier on Sam.

Taking care of his little brother was always going to be his priority. 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean and Sam were still by the lake, even though Charun was long dead and Sam had pointed out twice that they should leave. Dean agreed that they should, he knew he was wasting time here, but it felt wrong to leave this piece of his brother behind despite the fact the most important part of him was sitting beside him.

He kept making deals with himself; five more minutes and then he’d leave, one more bird had to land in front of him and then it would be the right time to go. The deals were just excuses though, and it wasn’t until Sam spoke up after a long time of silence that he realized he needed to move.

“This has got to stop, Dean,” Sam said firmly. “I’ve been patient, giving you time, but you’ve got to see it’s just a body now. There’s no danger to it being left here. Even if someone did manage to stumble across it, there’s nothing they can do to _me._ Even a salt and burn won’t do anything that matters. I’m not connected to my body. It’s you that’s tethering me. You’re doing nothing good sitting here beside a grave. There are things we need to do.”

Dean forced himself to look from the lake to his brother and asked, “Like what?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Like getting Cas back. Like stopping Amara. Like showering off the smell of a dead god and washing the grave dirt off of your hands.”

“I don’t have grave dirt on my hands,” Dean said, his brow furrowed his confusion.

Sam looked pointedly at his right hand and Dean followed his gaze, surprised to see that his hand was fisted in the mound. He quickly removed it and saw the dirt ingrained into his knuckles and fingernails. He hadn’t even been aware of moving closer to the grave, let alone touching it. It felt almost obscene to him that he’d been sitting beside Sam while shoving his fist into his grave.

Dean brushed off his hand on his pants leg and sighed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be ready,” Sam said, quoting one of his father’s favorite sayings, most often used when one of them had failed in a training exercise.

Dean smiled slightly. It wasn’t often that either of them mentioned John or consciously imitated him.   

“What am I supposed to do though?” he asked. “Amara is unstoppable, even if she didn’t have this hold over me.”

“Then we start smaller,” Sam said. “Get Cas back first. We need Lucifer out of him.”

Dean frowned. “I didn’t think you would care about that anymore.”

Sam’s brow fell heavy over his eyes and he looked stung. “Of course I care! I know what Lucifer is capable of doing to and with Cas. It was my fists that beat you to a bloody pulp, remember? I want to save him from that as much as you.”

“You don’t blame him for doing it to himself?”

Sam answered harshly, seemingly unable to stop the words. “I blame him for letting Lucifer out, yeah. I’m pissed that he would do it after what Lucifer did to me. I was willing to stay in that cage with him forever rather than let him out myself. And the fact Cas did it, knowing what Lucifer had done to me, to my soul, makes me want to slug him. But it’s Cas. He didn’t do it because he’s being a dick or because he doesn’t care. He must have had his reasons. Lucifer obviously said something to him that made him think he had no choice.”

“You think Lucifer threatened him?” Dean asked.

Sam looked thoughtful. “Not in the way you’re thinking,” he said slowly. “But he obviously made Cas think it was the only way. If I had to guess, I’d say he told Cas he’d be able to stop Amara. Anyway, it wouldn’t matter how pissed I am now; I’d still want to get Lucifer out of him. You need him back.”

Dean was confused. It had always been true that he needed Castiel back. Ever since he’d known what Castiel had done, let Lucifer out, Dean had needed him. They both had, but Sam seemed to put more emphasis on it now.

“Why?” he asked.

Sam looked exasperated. “Because you _need_ him! Now more than ever you need him onside. You’ve got no one backing you up anymore. I’m useless.”

“You saved my ass giving me the dagger,” Dean said.

“Which was a rare chance. If something else happens to you, if someone has you ‘round the throat again, how many bronze daggers do you think will be lying around, waiting for me to pick them up?”

“It doesn’t need to be a—” Dean started, but Sam overrode him.

“I am no good to you. I can’t fight anything living. If you’re jumped by a fugly, all I can do is watch and hope you can get out of it alone. I’m worse than useless. I’m a distraction.”

“You’re not!” Dean argued, not understanding how Sam could think that when having him back, even as he was now, was the best thing to happen to him since he’d woken up in the Campbell compound and seen Sam sitting opposite him, alive, no longer trapped in the Cage.

“The fact you’re still sitting beside my grave proves my point,” Sam said. “You’re distracted because of what happened to me.”

Dean couldn’t deny that, honestly. He was messed up by what had happened to Sam and twisted up by the fact he felt this way to have him with him, even while Sam was stuck in this state. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t do his job. He just didn’t want to leave Sam behind in that grave.

“It just feels wrong,” he admitted. “Leaving you here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I am with you. The real me is going to be dragged along wherever you go.”

Dean stared him in the eyes, his worry overcoming his need to shield himself. Was Sam resenting what was happening? Wouldhe rather be free from him? “Dragged?”  

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I’m going along wherever you go. You’ve got to leave this place behind and forget about it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Reassured but still not happy, Dean blew out a heavy breath and got to his feet. “Okay, sure. We’ll go. Where are we going though? Home?” 

Sam stood smoothly behind him, showing no need to push himself up from the ground in this new form. Dean supposed muscle fatigue wasn’t an issue for him anymore. He wouldn’t have pins and needles from sitting still as long as he had the way Dean did. He moved from foot to foot as the blood rushed back and watched as Sam considered.

“We need help to get Cas back,” he said. “Have you tried Crowley lately?”

Dean knew Sam had tried calling Crowley for updates and then, when Lucifer had revealed himself, for help with Castiel.

“I called when you were… you know…”

“Dead,” Sam supplied with a nod. “What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t get you back,” Dean said, an unconscious growl in his voice from his residual anger at the demon. Maybe he couldn’t have done it, but he didn’t need to be such a dick about it. “He wouldn’t deal.”

“You tried to make a deal!” Sam’s eyes widened and then he shook his head. “Why am I even asking? Of course you did.”

“Like you wouldn’t?” Dean asked, “Like you didn’t try after Metatron killed me?”

Sam looked surprised and Dean went on, his voice rising.

“Crowley told me you summoned him, so don’t give me crap about trying to do the same. I couldn’t make a deal since Crowley doesn’t have access to Cipencel, but if he had, I would have dealt and taken on the consequences. Just like I know you would have.”

“Okay,” Sam said, holding up his hands. “I get it. I would have done the same. But I’m damn glad he couldn’t. Things are already screwed enough without adding in a demon deal.” He sighed. “But we need him now, so give him a call.” 

“He’s looking for something to stop Amara,” Dean said.

“That’s good,” Sam said, looking pleased. “We can stow her for now. We get Cas back and then we can all work with Crowley on whatever he’s doing together. Call him and ask him to meet us. Well, I guess it’ll be you since he apparently won’t be able to see me.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “This is going to get complicated. For now, let’s just get him to meet. Don’t bring him here though. I don’t want him seeing this.”

He looked pointedly at his grave and Dean understood that he knew it wasn’t just a body after all. He was just pushing Dean as he knew they needed to get on with what mattered to the world, not just to them. 

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Crowley’s number and put it on speaker so Sam could hear the conversation.

It was answered after only a few rings, and Crowley said gleefully, _“This is going to eat your minutes, Squirrel. I’m in Saudi Arabia.”_

Sam frowned and Dean asked, “What are you doing there?”

 _“Well,”_ Crowley said expansively, _“I checked Walmart for weapons capable of killing God-like beings, but they were out, so I came to an old friend. I’ll call you right back.”_

The call clicked off and Dean’s screen darkened.

“What do you think?” Dean asked.

“I think being a ghost or whatever I am would be better if it came with teleporting so I could go see what exactly he was doing and with whom. Any friend of Crowley’s screams trouble to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was exchanging Amara for a whole new kind of trouble for us. Being dead sucks.”

Dean averted his eyes and looked at the grave again. The easy way Sam could say it, as if being dead was just an inconvenience instead of yet another form of hell for Dean, made it hard for him to meet his eyes.

Sam snapped his fingers and said, “You’ve got to focus, Dean! We should go now.” Without giving Dean a chance to argue or defend himself, he walked away along the track that would lead to the Impala. Hating the feeling that Sam was treating him like a child, or worse incapable and unreliable, he followed, coming to a stop only when they reached the car.

He leaned against the hood and tried to look as though he was fine with the relocation, as if it meant nothing to him that they’d left Sam behind. He was saved from speaking though by the ringing of his phone. He answered and put it on speaker again.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

_“Yes, and I wiped another item off the to-do list while I was there.”_

“What did you do?” Sam asked and then looked frustrated when Crowley obviously didn’t hear the question.

Dean asked it for him, and Crowley chuckled.

_“Had a client that thought I would wipe a deal for a little help. As if I wasn’t there to save the world! Selfish fool. I tore up an old credit card bill and he handed it over. I snapped his neck as a lesson to the others that I don’t negotiate.”_

“That’s better than what I was imagining,” Sam said and Dean nodded. 

“What did you get from him?” Dean asked.

 _“A weapon,”_ Crowley said smugly. _“Another Hand of God.”_

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

When Dean asked the question, Crowley said, _“I’m not spoiling the surprise. You’re going to like it, though. We need to talk. Where are you?”_

“Greenville, Illinois.”

 _“Still!”_ Crowley said impatiently. _“Tell me you’ve taken care of the body. If you haven’t, you’re looking at a really nasty health hazard. It’s plain unhygienic, Dean, not to mention disrespectful. You’ve got to put him away and move on. It’s just meat.”_

Sam nodded. “He’s not completely stupid then.”

Dean glowered at him. “We need to meet. Can you come here?”

Sam threw his hands up in frustration. It annoyed Dean as he wasn’t thinking about his reluctance to leave Sam behind now. He just wanted to see Crowley sooner rather than later.

 _“No,”_ Crowley said. _“I can’t. Meet me in St Louis. I’ll text you an address.”_ He cut the call without another word and Dean stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“St. Louis,” Dean said bitterly.

Sam opened his mouth, perhaps to give him another lecture about his duty and the fact he needed to leave the grave behind, but Dean spoke before he could, explaining his annoyance and reluctance.

“First time we went there I was framed for murder by that shapeshifter. The last time you nearly bled to death trying to get the codex out of that safe. And let’s not forget the Leviathans that shot up Connor’s diner there while wearing our faces, meaning I can never get another burger there. That place doesn’t exactly mean good times for us, Sammy.”

Sam grinned. “It’s not all bad. We were there with James and Portia and that wasn’t so bad.”

“The bestiality couple,” Dean said. “That was fine until the dick man-witch gave us a walk down worst-possible-memory lane. Face it, Sam, St. Louis is trouble.”

“Then this will be the trip that breaks pattern,” Sam said, unconcerned. “This time we’ll get Cas back and check out this Hand of God. Maybe we can get Cas back _and_ deal with Amara in one go.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You really believe that?”

“Maybe not in one go,” Sam conceded. “But we’re working towards it now. We can get Cas back at least. If Crowley can find us a Hand of God, he can maybe find us something to get Lucifer out

“What we need is to get Cas to kick him out,” Dean said.

“If he even wants to,” Sam pointed out. “He let him in for a reason.”

Dean blew out a heavy breath and shook his head. “This is all so screwed up.” 

Sam reached out as if to grip his shoulder, and then he seemed to realize he couldn’t, dropping his hand with a look of frustration. “We’re going to fix it, Dean. And then we’ll pay a kid to pick you up a Connor’s burger. Just because they think we’re serial killers, not everyone will. Kids today live on social media. They probably don’t keep up with our various crimes.”

Dean laughed at the ludicrousness of the situation. The fact that their lives were crazy enough that they had to send a random kid to get them burgers because they had supposedly murdered a diner full of people the last time they were there was just another mark of how screwed their life was.

He realized that it was the first time he had laughed properly since Sam had died, and things had been good before that, and laughing had been so natural, even with all the chaos, made him laugh harder, a tinge of hysteria creeping into it.

Sam missed the hysteria though. He seemed pleased to see Dean evidently happy again. He was chuckling and shaking his head.

Dean’s phone pinged with a text and he choked himself to calm, occasionally snorting as he read it. “He wants us to meet him in Florissant.”

Sam nodded and walked around to the shotgun side. “Then we better get gone.”

Dean coughed and cleared his throat, ending the last vestiges of semi-hysterical laughter, and got in behind the wheel.

It still felt wrong to go, but he had a feeling it would until he was used to having Sam with him in this form, when he could be sure he wasn’t going to blink out on him. Vanth said he couldn’t, he was part of him, but Sam was nothing if not surprising. He often broke the rules. Dean had to hope that this was one he’d leave in place instead of leaving Dean behind. 


	9. Chapter 9

Dean paced back and forth, his hands alternately fisting and relaxing as he glanced down at his watch and grumbled about Crowley being late. Sam was the complete opposite, standing by the rear wall and watching Dean with a quirked eyebrow.

“He gave us _this_ address!” Dean snapped as he spun on his heel and started walking in the other direction.

“He’ll come,” Sam said confidently. “He’s just keeping you waiting on purpose to screw with you. It’s obviously working. Why don’t you try just stopping and relaxing a moment? You don’t want to look like this when he arrives. You know he’ll get a kick out of it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Dean stopped and took a deep breath. He knew Sam was right, but he was tense and pacing had helped. He had done what Sam wanted, left the lake and come here, but he had done it against his will. He was more than aware of how important it was for them to get Castiel back and to stop Amara, but he still felt the draw to be close to Sam, no matter how impractical and pointless it was. He needed to get over it and move on. But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

It would be easier to move on once he was actually doing something other than waiting in this cold and damp building. According to the sign above the door, it had once been a post office warehouse, but it had been a long time since it had been used for anything apart from giving homeless people shelter on wet nights and for kids to gather and party. There was a smattering of empty beer bottles and the remains of a disposable charcoal grill that Dean assumed had been lit for warmth and not actual food, as he couldn’t think of anywhere less appealing place than this to eat.

He walked back to Sam and stood beside him, relaxing his fisted hands and trying to look as if he wasn’t bothered by the fact Crowley was late for their meeting.

“You know he might not come at all,” Dean said. “He could have gotten caught up in Hell crap. He spent a lot of time on the politics of hell when we were together.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Even during your summer of fun?” 

“I don’t call being a demon fun, Sam,” Dean growled.

“You know what I meant,” Sam said apologetically. “When you were both living it large together.”

Dean shrugged. “He was still preoccupied a lot of the time. And it wasn’t exactly fun. I was running around with _Crowley_!”

He knew Sam hadn’t meant to make less of what he had been and what he had done, but reminders of those weeks and the damage he’d wreaked, people he’d hurt, and emotions he’d toyed with weren’t his favorite things to dwell on.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Crowley said. “I remember we both had a very good time partying together. There are some fond memories of karaoke, before you became a mike-hog anyway.”

Dean looked around and saw the demon striding towards them. He had arrived silently, probably for dramatic effect, and was now looking amused but also curious as he scanned the area for a sign of who Dean was talking to and obviously not finding one. In his hand was a black leather briefcase.

“And why are you talking to yourself about our _awesome_ summer together anyway?”

“I’m not talking to myself,” Dean said. “I’m talking to Sam.”

Vanth had said Crowley wouldn’t be able to see Sam, but he wanted to test the theory. He also didn’t want Crowley thinking he was having conversations with himself.

“I know that’s not true,” Crowley said with a smirk. “Not even Charon could have put Sam back in his body after taking him.”

“He’s not in his body,” Dean said. “He’s with me because—“

“Dean,” Sam said in a warning tone, but Dean had already caught himself.

Even if it helped convince Crowley that Sam was there, Dean didn’t want him to know Sam was still there as they were soul mates. No one but them and Ash, and maybe Castiel, knew about their connection. Dean wasn’t sure about Castiel. He’d told Dean that he would find Sam in Heaven, and that was only supposed to work with special cases, but maybe he’d been relying on the Winchester way of defying the rules.

He definitely did not want Crowley mocking the thing that had kept Sam with him after the horrific loss he’d suffered with his death.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “He’s with you because… what?” When Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer, he went on alone. “Because you’ve lost the plot and are seeing ghosts? Well, you’re a regular Haley Joel. I imagine it’s a comfort at least, even if it does put a kink in our plans. If you could do us a favor and try to hang on to what sanity you have left, that’d be great.”

“I’ve not lost anything,” Dean snarled.

“Apart from your brother, you mean,” Crowley mocked.

“Ignore him. He’s just trying to screw with you,” Sam advised.

“I know,” Dean said.

“Then why are you talking to him?” Crowley asked, obviously thinking Dean was talking to him.

Dean ignored the question and asked one of his own. “So, what’s the weapon?” Dean asked.

“The Horn of Joshua,” Crowley said, patting the case.

 “Yes!” Sam said, his eyes bright with excitement. “It was used by the Israelites to get into Jericho,” Sam replied. “They marched around the city, and on the seventh day, the priest blew their ram’s horns and the city walls crumbled. They killed every man, woman, and child inside except this woman and her family because they’d helped their spies.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Dean said. “Will it work?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, but he answered calmly. “Yes. It’s going to have a lot of destructive power.”

“Good,” Dean said.

“Are you finished talking to yourself?” Crowley asked irritably. “Because I was about to tell you the tale of our nuke.”

“It was used by the Israelites to get into Jericho,” Dean said with a smug smile. “I already know.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t figure you were much for bible study. Apparently, you and the moose did more than swill beer on your downtime.”

“We do a lot more than that,” Dean said. “And I didn’t know. Sam told me.”

“Sure he did. “Now, since I have found us this treasure, we need to talk details. I’m not just handing it over, see. I want something in return.”

“Something more than a way to save the world?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded slowly. He’d expected Crowley to want something, even though the fate of creation was as important to him as it was Dean and Sam. If Amara went nuclear, she wasn’t just going to take out humanity. She had the power to destroy the universe. If Crowley wanted to keep running Hell and handling his deals, he was going to need there to be a world for it to happen in.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Lucifer,” Crowley growled, his eyes dark with anger. “I want him out of your feathered friend and stuffed back into the cage. I need your help for that. Have you got something that can expel angels lying around in that subterranean university you live in?”

“We can’t do that, Dean,” Sam warned. “We need Cas back, but we need Lucifer, too.”

Dean saw his tension in his tightly drawn brow and thin lips. “Why do we need him? I thought you’d want Lucifer put away.”

“I do,” Sam said fervently. “But since he’s already out, we need someone that can handle the weapon. Lucifer is the only one that’s faced Amara before.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, but Crowley…”

Sam spoke over him. “Had his wrist snapped and was thrown into the wall while she was still a teenager. She’s all grown now, and her power hasn’t even been close to shown yet. We need someone with Lucifer’s strength to have a chance.”

Crowley snapped his fingers. “Focus, Dean! What about me?”

“Huh?”

“You were talking—to yourself—and you said, ‘But Crowley.’ So I want to know what you and the voices were chatting about.”

“This weapon needs someone with power behind it if it’s going up against Amara. Can you handle it?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” Crowley asked.

“He’s not answering,” Sam pointed out. “Push him.”

“It’s going to take serious strength to take out Amara, even with The Hand of God as a weapon. Do you really think you’ve got it? We’ve got one chance at this. The power only works once. If she beats you, explodes you or eats you or whatever, what’s going to happen to the world?”

“Your concern is touching,” Crowley said with a snide smile. “But if it’s not me that uses it, who is it going to be?”

“Lucifer,” Dean stated. “We can use him instead.”

Crowley’s expression darkened and his jaw clenched. For a moment he seemed too irate to talk, and then he shouted, “He had me licking the floor!”

“He did what?” Sam asked. 

Dean had a vague memory of Crowley ranting about Lucifer, but it was from the time after Sam’s death, and most of that was a blur of pain and devastation. Whatever Crowley had been saying had been lost in the haze of grief.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Crowley, what are you talking about?”

Crowley bared his teeth. “I should have known you weren’t listening to me. After your buddy Cas slipped Lucifer out, he came after me. He snapped my whore of a mother’s neck and then stuffed me in a cage of my own. He had me for weeks, taunting me, abusing me, calling me puppy, making me scrub floors with a toothbrush and…”

“And your tongue,” Dean finished for him. “I get the picture. So, you want Lucifer back in the Cage as some kind of payback.”

Crowley’s breaths still came fast and angry but he was obviously trying to calm himself as he said, “It’s not just payback. It’s saving the world for what comes after Amara is taken care of. You know the damage he can do. You know what kind of monster he is.”

“And you’re such a do-gooder,” Sam muttered.

Dean didn’t acknowledge his words. He had a more pressing concern. “I agree that he needs to go back to the Cage, but we need him for Amara first. We get him out of Cas, into a new vessel, and then set him loose on Amara. When we’ve done that, we can take care of getting him in the Cage again.”

“No!” Crowley said with obvious frustration. “We’re getting him out of Castiel, in the Cage, and then we’ll find another way to dealing with Amara.”

Sam threw his hands up and turned away.

“I get that you’re pissed at him,” Dean said, attempting to calm him so they could speak rationally. “I would be, too, but we _need_ him.”

“We will find another way!” Crowley growled. “I am not helping you unless you agree to do this without him. Good luck taking her on without this.” He held up the briefcase.

“How do we even get him back in the Cage anyway?” Sam asked. “We need Rowena and the Book of The Damned to even have a chance, and she’s dead and that’s missing. We don’t have Death’s ring anymore so we can’t use the key.”

Dean was thinking the same, and he posed the question to Crowley.

“I have a rolodex of witch bitches and we’ll find the book,” Crowley said, straightening his jacket and taking a deep, calming breath. “I just need you to get Lucifer out of Castiel. I’ll do the rest.” He gave Dean a sly look. “Think of Sam. He would want Lucifer back in the Cage, too. Remember what that bastard did to Sam’s soul.”

“Ignore him, Dean,” Sam said. “We need Cas back.”

Dean nodded to him and then addressed Crowley. “Sam wants Cas back, too, and he wants Amara stopped. He knows we need Lucifer for that.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Sure he does. Really, Dean, are you surprised your imaginary brother is agreeing with you? You’ve probably never been happier with him than you are right now. He won’t argue anymore, he won’t buck against the rein or complain about your drinking. He’s going to be everything you need him to be because he isn’t actually real! It’s all in your head.”

“Happy!” Dean snarled, goaded into speech. “You think this is what I want for him?”

“I think an invisible yes-man is exactly what you want.”

Dean stalked towards Crowley, intent on punching him in the smug face, but Sam ran forward and stepped in front of him, hands raised. “Stop!” he commanded.

Dean did stop but not because he had been told to but because he didn’t want to walk through his brother as if he was a ghost. That was an abhorrent thought, seeing the evidence of what he had become.

Deans stepped to the side and pointed a finger at Crowley. “You have no idea, Crowley, and it doesn’t matter what you think. What matters is that…”

He trailed off as he heard a low rumble that built to a roaring climax. Sam ran out the open door and Dean ran after him. They got outside and Dean’s eyes were drawn to the sky where lightning was flashing and thunder rumbled close enough for Dean to feel the pressure against his eardrums. Lighting flashed down and hit a utility pole a little farther down the street. Sparks flew, and two men wearing overalls with fluorescent yellow jackets that were walking near it turned and ran.

Dean walked back into the warehouse and waited for Crowley and Sam to join him. Sam came in, his forehead creased with worry and said, “That was her.”

Dean nodded and spoke to Crowley as he came in. “It was her, Crowley, and you know it. That was probably just a sneeze. Do you really want to risk her really losing her temper for the sake of revenge? We need Lucifer. “

“And I need Lucifer in the Cage,” Crowley rebutted. 

Dean glared at him. “Are you really going to risk ending the world because you’re embarrassed by what he did to you?”

“If Sam was really here, not a figment of your imagination, he’d be agreeing with me,” Crowley said. “He knows what Lucifer is capable of doing to a person. He’d understand what he did to me.”

Dean took a shaky breath and tried to calm himself before saying, “Don’t you _dare_ compare what Lucifer did to you to what he did to Sam. He made a fool of you. It sucked, yeah, but Sam was _tortured_ for years by him and Michael.”

“Dean, it’s fine,” Sam soothed.

“It’s not!” Dean said harshly. “He’s just being pathetic, putting his pride before the whole world.” 

Crowley glowered at him. “This isn’t about pride. This is about him being a menace.”

“And the only chance we have at stopping Amara!” Dean shouted in frustration at the arrogant demon.

“Dean,” Sam said, stepping in front of him.

“No, Sammy, I’m done with him and his—“

“No!” Sam said, his eyes wide and intense. “Look!”

Dean followed his finger to the steel door that was glowing with orange light. As the light died, fiery words were revealed in the metal.

“Back from the dead, Fergus,” Dean read aloud.

“It’s Rowena,” Sam said. “Got to be. No one else calls him that.”

Crowley seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Mother!” he spat. “That’s just what we… Huh.” He chuckled. “That _is_ exactly what we need. Her plus the book means an expressway to the Cage.”

Dean was on the point of arguing again, but Sam held up a hand. “Go along with it,” he said quietly. “I’ve got an idea.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” Sam said. “But it’s the best we’ve got. Crowley isn’t going to hand over the horn unless he’s got no choice. So we’ll make sure he’s got no choice.”

Dean nodded slowly and sighed heavily, possibly overdoing the act slightly, before addressing Crowley. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Lucifer and then Amara.”

Both Sam and Dean examined Crowley’s face as he considered Dean’s words. Dean was wondering whether Crowley would accept the sudden change of mind without suspicion, but he seemed to be consumed by the thought of revenge that he didn’t care about the motivation.

“Good,” he said with a smug expression. “I’ll call Mother and see where the rock she’s crawled out from under is.” He pulled out his phone and dialed.

Dean nodded and glanced at Sam with a quirked eyebrow.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “I think it’ll work. We’ll get Cas back.”

Dean wanted to know what would work, but he couldn’t ask with Crowley still there. He had to trust his brother’s brain and cunning to get them out of this apocalyptic mess and Castiel back.


	10. Chapter 10

Rowena was in Columbia, Missouri, a couple hours across the state from St. Louis, so Dean and Sam parted ways with Crowley at the warehouse and set off there in the Impala.

They were just out of town when Dean asked the question that had been worrying him since Sam had told him to go along with Crowley’s decision to put Lucifer back in the Cage. 

“How are we doing this, Sammy? We can’t let them stick Lucifer in the Cage before Amara has been stopped.”

“I know. So we block them when they start.”

Dean glanced at him, before returning his eyes to the wet road through the rain-streaked windshield that the wipers could only combat a little. “I thought you wanted Cas back.”

“I do, but I want Amara dealt with as well. So, we get Lucifer out of Cas and _then_ stop them.

“Crowley and Rowena aren’t going to be happy with me for getting in the way of their plan. Crowley said Rowena was pretty keen to dispatch him to Hell, too.”

“Does that matter?” Sam asked. “I thought you and Crowley had gotten over your bromance. And Rowena’s not exactly a friend.”

Dean sighed. Sam’s inability to understand the mess that had been Dean’s time as a demon, palling up with Crowley, frustrated him. “It wasn’t a bromance. And we are over it. I am, anyway. I don’t think Crowley gives much of a crap about me either. I just meant that they are the King of Hell and the most powerful witch either of us have ever seen.”

Sam’s brows pulled together as he considered. “I think you’ll be okay. They’ll be pissed, sure, but they’re also smart enough to know you’re needed to deal with Amara. Once they realize that they’ve got to use Lucifer, they’ll need you. Even armed with the horn, Lucifer is going to need to find Amara, and you’re their best chance at that. You might even be able to distract her while Lucifer takes the shot. Besides, you’re too powerful an ally for them to waste.”

Dean snorted. “Powerful? You sure that’s not just little brother hero-worship?”

“You were never my hero, Dean,” Sam said staring at him with a look of amusement. “My hero was Batman.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “And yet Batman didn’t save you from getting your arm broken when you jumped off the shed roof.”

“Neither did you?” Sam pointed out. “It was because of you that I thought I could do it anyway.”

“That’s not my point. What I’m saying is that Batman was the wrong hero for you since you got your arm broken pretending to be him.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And you were the right hero?”

“No, probably not,” Dean conceded. “I did get you up on the shed in the first place. But my point stands. Hero-worship is no good for this. Crowley and Rowena might not think I can do anything to help, which means they might kill me.”

Sam looked out of the windshield for a moment, considering. “If you really think that’s a risk, we can go back to the bunker now and lock the doors. Neither of them can get in.”

“And Lucifer will go back to the Cage and Amara will destroy the world.” Dean huffed. “No, I don’t really think they’ll kill me, but they’re not going to be happy with me.”

“What do you want to do?” Sam asked.

“Keep driving to Columbia,” Dean said. “Get Cas back and wait for Lucifer to reappear in a new vessel. Help him trap Amara and take her out, and then get his evil ass back in the Cage.”

“Good,” Sam said and then silence fell between them for a moment. “I was lying, you know.”

“About what?” Dean asked.

“When I said you weren’t my hero. You were. You _are_. You’re pretty incredible, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Quit kissing my ass. I’m going to do what you want.”

“I’m serious,” Sam said sincerely.

Dean forced himself not to allow the swell of emotion he felt at Sam’s words show and said gruffly. “Okay, I’m putting some music on before you start singing the Barney song.” He fumbled for a cassette and pushed it into the stereo. A moment later Black Sabbath blared from the speakers.

Sam was laughing raucously, and Dean chanced a glance at him. “What’s funny?”

Sam calmed slightly, his laughs becoming chuckles, and said, “You know the Barney song?”

“Shut up,” Dean said quickly.

Sam began to laugh again and Dean joined him in spite of himself. He was thinking how good the moment felt. He was here laughing with his brother, even after what had happened.

It took a long time for him to calm and be able to ask, “How exactly do we stop this spell? I don’t think covering Rowena’s mouth mid-chant is going to cut it with Crowley there to throw me against a wall.”

“You need to get close and say, “Rectam uiam.”

“Rectum?” Dean asked with a grin.

Sam shook his head with a small smile. “ _Rectam_. It’s Latin. It will block her spell. Do it when he’s out of Cas but before he takes off. He’s going to be in a hurry, so she’ll be working double speed. You’ve got to do the same.”

“Got it,” Dean said. “But how are we getting him out of Cas?”

Sam looked satisfied. “I had an idea about that. You told me there was a sigil you used to try to talk to me with when Gadreel was running the switches.”

“Yeah, he screwed with it so it wouldn’t work.”

“No one will do that this time. You all want the same thing. Get Cas listening and tell him to kick Lucifer out.”

“You think that will work? He did let him in.”

“Things are different now,” Sam said.

“What things?”

“I’m dead. Make sure he knows that and he’ll kick Lucifer out so he can come back. He will want to help you more.”

“More than saving the world?”

“Yes,” Sam said confidently. “Once he wouldn’t have made that choice, but Cas gets what it is to be human now, what loss feels like. He’s going to want to be with you.”

Dean wasn’t sure it would work, but it was the only idea on the table. “I’ll try,” he said. “And then what do we do when Lucifer is out?”

“We wait for Lucifer to show up and get him the horn. He’s going to, I’m sure. Amara is the only thing that is more powerful than him in the world. He’s going to want to be the one on top. Once he has the horn, I’m pretty sure he’ll know what to do, though you’ll need to get him close to Amara.”

Dean grimaced. “Working with Lucifer. Does it make you feel like…”

“Like I’ve bathed in a sewer?” Sam suggested. “Yes. It does. But what choice do we have? He’s our best chance against Amara.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It still felt wrong to Dean to be using Lucifer for anything though. It made his skin crawl. It felt like a betrayal to Sam, even though he was the one encouraging it.

“You’re going to need to remind me of the rectum words when it’s time though,” he said, hoping the instance of humor would lighten the dour mood that had settled over them.

“Why do you do that?” Sam asked, his brows low over his sad eyes.

“Do what? Rectum jokes? Sorry, Sammy, but it was irresistible. It’s not my fault you’ve got no sense of humor.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Sam corrected sadly. “I meant why do you play dumb when you’re not? You remember the spell from the first time I said it.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Sammy, you’re the brains of this outfit, and we both know it.”

“Well the brains are dead now so you’ve got to quit playing like you’re the stupid cousin at the kids’ table.”

“You’re not dead, dead,” Dean said fiercely.

“No?” Sam asked. “Feels like it.”

Dean’s heart sank at his words. He thought Sam was doing okay. They’d been joking around even. Sam had seemed to handle everything so well since he came back. He was pretty sure Sam hadn’t meant to slip up and tell him what he was really feeling, but now that he had Dean was worried about him.

“Sammy…” he started, unsure of what to say.

Sam shook his head curtly and then smiled. “You should speed up a little. We’ve still got a ways to go and the longer Crowley and Rowena are together, the more chance there is of one of them killing the other.”

Dean knew the smile was false and Sam was suffering more than he let on, but he accepted his desire to change the subject—he hated to be pushed into emotional conversations, too—and said, “My money’s on Rowena. That woman is fierce.”

“Yeah, we really should hurry.”

Dean cast a glance at Sam and saw his smile, but wasn’t fooled. It was the look in Sam’s eyes that showed the truth.

They were haunted. 

xXx

When Dean arrived at the church Rowena was sheltering in, he climbed out of the car and walked along the puddled path to the door. The rain that had pelted the car on the way from St. Louis had fallen here, too, but it had slowed to a drizzle now and Dean was able to get inside before he was too wet.

Rowena and Crowley were standing together by the old altar, bickering about something Dean didn’t bother to explore.

He was feeling morose now. Though Sam had maintained a pretense of happiness throughout the rest of the journey, Dean knew he wasn’t, and that had dragged him down. He wanted to know what it really felt like for Sam, other than insubstantial, and he wanted to know what he was thinking. He didn’t push though, partially because he didn’t want to know the answer.

Rowena and Crowley looked at him as he walked in, making no effort to hide his depression, and Rowena’s face fell into lines of false sympathy.

“Fergus told me about Sam,” she cooed. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry for letting Lucifer out, too?” Dean growled.

The false sympathy became annoyance and she said, “Since he snapped my neck, I’d have to say yes. If it wasn’t for the charm I’ve secreted in myself, it would have all ended there for me. My long and varied life would have ended in ignominy.”

“It worked though,” Dean said. “You’re alive, Sam isn’t.”

And he didn’t feel like he was, Dean thought. He was suffering and there was nothing Dean could do to ease it for him. He couldn’t even take Sam home and let him work it out in his own time as they had to be here, working to save Lucifer from the Cage so he could save the world. Dean was sick of dealing with the world’s problems as it always came at the cost to one of them.

“What happened to you was your own fault,” he went on accusingly. “Sam was trying to save lives when he was killed.”

“Calm down,” Sam said firmly. “She screwed up, but since he cost her life, I don’t think she’s going to make the same mistake again. She’s working with us now.”

“That doesn’t mean what she did isn’t evil,” Dean said, forcing himself to meet Sam’s eye.

“I know that.” Sam softened his voice. “But we need her to put Lucifer back when it’s all over, so play nice.”

“Told ya,” Crowley said smugly, with a meaningful look at Rowena.

Dean looked at them and saw Rowena looked falsely sympathetic again, and Crowley amused.

“You did,” Rowena said. “The poor wee lamb has lost his marbles. That doesn’t make him useless though. He can still be important. You were never playing with the full deck as a child either, but you did all right. You lived long enough to make a deal and now you’re king. Dean still has potential to be useful.”

“Enough!” Dean snapped and Sam said his name in a warning tone. Dean nodded and said, “Speaking about useful, unlike you two, I have a way to get Lucifer out of Cas.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “How are you going to do that?”

“We get Cas to kick him out. There’s a blood sigil that will stuff down Lucifer so we can talk to Cas. We tell him what’s happened and he can do the rest.”

Rowena nodded thoughtfully but Crowley looked skeptical. “Since Castiel let him in knowing what a spectacularly bad idea it is, what makes you think he’s changed his mind?”

“Lucifer will,” Sam said. “He’s not letting Cas rest in there. He would be cruel. Maybe Cas just needs the push to get him out.”

Dean flinched at the thought of what could be happening to Castiel and fixed his eyes on Crowley. “It’s going to work, trust me.”

Crowley laughed. “Trust you? Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You do your best to screw with my best plans most of the time, but on this I should trust you.” 

“I want Cas back, too,” Dean said bitterly.

“But you also want Lucifer in a new vessel,” Crowley said. “You did a pretty big turnaround before. One minute you’re all about keeping Lucifer around. The next you want him back in the Cage. I’m not stupid, Dean. I know you’re up to something.”

“He’s not as stupid as he looks then,” Sam said musingly. “Tell him I told you to do it. I reminded you of what Lucifer did to me. He’ll buy that.”

“I changed my mind because Sam did,” he said. “There will be another way to stop Amara, but there might not be another way to put Lucifer back in the Cage _after_ he’s stopped Amara. He deserves to stay there because of what he did to Sam.”

He searched Crowley’s face for a sign of residual doubt, but he looked convinced. If the situations were any different, he and Sam would be the ones fighting to put Lucifer back in the Cage without question, but this was about saving the world. They both had to stow personal feelings. 

“Yeah, okay,” Crowley said. “If the voices are on my side, who am I to doubt them. Sam _would_ want Lucifer stuffed away again after all. Maybe your hallucinations are making sense at last.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do we need to do?”

“We’ve got to lay a trap for him,” Dean said. “Holy oil.”

“I’ve got some sigils we can boost that with,” Rowena said. “Get me some paint.”

“I’ll get it,” Dean said.

He left the church with Sam at his side and went to the Impala. He popped the trunk and pulled out an urn of holy oil and a can of spray paint.

“You sold it,” Sam said confidently. “They believe you now.”

Dean nodded stiffly. He didn’t want to answer aloud and say too much as he was sure Crowley and Rowena would be listening carefully to him. Castiel had incredible hearing as an angel, and he was pretty sure Crowley would have a similar upgrade as a demon. 

He went back into the church and handed Crowley the oil and Rowena the spray paint. She walked to the middle of the room and knelt awkwardly in her tight dress to paint in the sigils. When she stepped back, Crowley added a circle of holy oil.

“It’s time for you to bleed, dear,” Rowena said.

Dean pulled a switchblade from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Why not yours?”

“Because _my_ blood is much more valuable, and I don’t want a scar. You Winchesters spent half your lives bleeding, and you can pull off a scar as something appealing.” She looked Dean up and down. “Not to me, of course. But to some people you can almost be classed as attractive.”

Dean cut across his palm and pumped his hand to draw blood before using it to daub the sigil on the wall. He remembered it well, even years later, as he had studied it after, wanting to know how Gadreel had managed to screw it up when he was still fermenting in his rage toward the angel. Gadreel had added a crossed line which Dean left out now. 

When he was done, he pumped his hand again to keep the blood flowing and said, “It’s ready. Are you?”

Rowena picked up the spell book from the altar and said, “I am. But how are we actually going to lure him here? I don’t think he’s much for answering prayers.”

“We’ll summon him,” Crowley said. “And when I say we, I mean you, Squirrel.” He rooted in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that he handed to Dean. “Say all that and he’ll come.”

Dean unfolded the paper and read the formally worded Latin summoning. “Got it,” he said.

Crowley nodded to himself and held out a lighter to Dean for a moment before pulling it back. “Can you handle this, or are you considering self-immolation as a way to join Sam in the Empty?”

“Sam’s not in the empty,” Dean growled.

“Of course he’s not, dear,” Rowena said soothingly and then dropped her voice to speak to Crowley. “Don’t antagonize the insane, grieving Winchester, Fergus. They aren’t stable to begin with.”

“That’s rich coming from her family,” Sam said.

“Gavin was okay,” Dean pointed out. “Though he’s probably butterfly-effecting his way across America right now, causing all kinds of trouble.”

“Gavin is fine,” Crowley said quickly. “He’s not affecting anything.”

“Who’s Gavin?” Rowena asked.

“Your grandson,” Dean said. “He bucks the family trend by being an actual good guy.”

Rowena turned her eyes on Crowley. “So you were a parent and still have no understanding of what it was like for me to be a mother _and_ a witch?”

“I understand plenty,” Crowley said. “I won’t win any Father of the Year award, but I did my son a favor letting him stick around in this time instead of letting him set sail on a doomed ship.”

“And screwed the world,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “Finding him is one more thing on the to-do list.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him!” Crowley snarled. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Dean said, unconcerned by Crowley’s anger.

“No, you were talking to yourself, which is perfectly sane. Exactly what we need when we’re about to face Satan.” He shook his head tiredly. “You do the summoning. I’ll light the oil when he shows up. And then you can do the sigil to get Castiel chatting.”  Crowley walked to the altar and waved a hand over the briefcase which popped open, and he took out the horn with a cloth wrapped around his hand. “Here’s the bait. We just need the mouse. Are you ready, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean said forcefully, in response to both Crowley’s words and Sam’s concerned look.

“Excellent,” Rowena said. “You boys take care of that and I’ll come back when he’s in the air.”

“You’re not staying?” Dean asked.

Rowena looked amused. “No. I’m doing what any sane person does in a situation like this. Hiding until he’s out of a body that can snap my neck again.”

“You’re a true hero,” Sam said.

Dean laughed. “She’s as much of a hero as her son.”

“And you’re such a white knight,” Crowley sneered. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Dean said. “And since I actually have saved the world before, I’d say I’m more of a hero than you.”

Sam nodded, his eyes intense as he stared at the demon.

“Dealing with crazy people is exhausting,” Crowley said tiredly. “Let’s get on with it. Hide if you’re hiding, Mother, but I wouldn’t bother myself. He’s an archangel. He’s going to sense your power as soon as he arrives. You might as well stay out here with us and pretend to have a backbone.”

Dean held out the paper with the summoning to her and said, “You can do this part.”

Rowena scowled. “I hate you both.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Dean said and Sam nodded stiffly.

She walked ahead of Dean where he stood by the wall, lifted the paper, and cleared her throat. “Here goes…” She took a breath and when she spoke, her voice was shaking. “In nomine magni dei nostri Satanas, introibo ad altare Domini Inferi I summon you to make an offer: the weapon by which its bearer can crush the Darkness forever.”

There was a crash of thunder that seemed to force itself on Dean so that he felt it in his bones, even with the roof between him and the sky, and a flash of light that cleared to reveal Lucifer standing on the sigils in the circle of oil.

“Now, Crowley!” Dean shouted, but Crowley was already flicking the lighter to flame. He dropped it down and fire licked over the circle of oil and flames rose.

“Well, this isn’t exactly what I was expecting.” Lucifer looked around from face to face, a flicker of a smile curling his lips as his eyes fell on Rowena, and then he settled on Crowley. “What do you have there, Puppy?” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s _the_ horn. You found yourself another Hand of Dad. This is great. Douse these flames and let’s get to work. Auntie Amara isn’t going to destroy herself.”

Dean pumped his fist and slapped his bloody palm on the sigil. It flared with sparks and Lucifer began to shake.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. “I need you!”

Lucifer laughed, and for a moment Dean thought it had failed, but then the laughter cut off and a voice that was all Castiel spoke, “Dean? What’s happened?”

“You let Lucifer in,” Crowley said dryly. “We’d like you to kick him out.”

“Now, Cas,” Dean said, his hands fisting and making the blood drip on the floor. “Get him out!”

“I can’t,” Castiel said. “He’s the only one that can stop…” He looked around. “Where is Sam?”

“Tell him, Dean,” Sam commanded.

Dean’s throat closed as he tried to force himself to say the words that tormented him, but before he could say anything, Castiel started to laugh and Dean saw Lucifer in the mad eyes.

“So, that’s your plan,” Lucifer said, a wry smile curling his lips. “You want Castiel to cast me out? You do realize that’s insanity, right? I’m the _only_ chance this world has now that The Darkness is free. Castiel knows that. He’s not going to kick me out because of it.” He laughed again. “He is sacrificing himself for the good of the world. You should be grateful to us both. Sam would get it…” He looked around. “Where is Sam?”

Dean swallowed around the constriction in his throat and glanced at his brother. Sam had the look of fear Dean had seen in him when he’d been faced with Lucifer before, but his eyes were hard. He was scared but fighting it.

“Too scared to face the reunion?” Lucifer looked intently at Dean and then grinned. “Or…holding back tears, broken expression…is he dead?”

“Ignore him, Dean,” Sam said.

“He is!” Lucifer said triumphantly. “This is perfect. _This_ is why you want Castiel. You think he can bring him back. I’m sorry to disappoint, but he can’t. The longer angels are away from Heaven, the less connection they have to the divine. Castiel can’t bring life anymore, and I think you know it already… Were you blinded by grief or is trapping me your attempt at making a deal with me?”

“We want nothing from you,” Sam growled. “We just need Cas back.”

Lucifer rubbed his hands together. “Okay then. Let’s deal. I’ll bring Sammy back if you give up this Castiel thing. He stays with me, you don’t interfere, and I’ll get him back. I’ll even take care of Amara for you. Call it a freebie.”

“No!” Sam said, his eyes wide and his hands reaching uselessly for Dean. “Don’t do it, Dean!”

Dean’s chest ached as if there was an anvil on it as he realized Sam didn’t know. He hadn’t been there when Vanth said no one could bring life after Charun took it. He hadn’t told him that damning fact.

“I don’t want anything from you but Cas back,” Dean lied. What he wanted even more was Sam alive, but that was impossible.

“That’s not happening,” Lucifer said. “So we’re at a stalemate. We can wait until the fire burns out so I can strangle you with your own bloody entrails, put Puppy back in his cage, and make a proper job of killing the witch, or we can talk details. Douse the fire, give me the horn, and get this party started. Save the world together. Or die.”

“We need Cas, too,” Sam said. “If we don’t get him back now, we never will.”

Dean nodded and Lucifer crowed. “That’s a yes then. Awesome. Break out the fire extinguisher and we can get to work. Or…” He looked down at the fire that was dying. “Or I can do it all. Kill you, deal with Amara, and have this vessel for myself without niggling familial bonds.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley said, his brow pinched. “Let’s do this.”

Dean was about to argue, to tell him not to deal, but Crowley’s head flew back and red smoke poured from his mouth into the air and then at Lucifer whose mouth opened and the smoke poured in. Crowley’s meat suit dropped heavily to the floor, the horn with it, and Lucifer jerked as if being electrocuted.

“What the hell is he doing?” Rowena asked, shifting from foot to foot as if fighting the urge to flee.

“Maybe he’s not as big a coward as I thought,” Sam mused.

Dean shook his head slowly. “Lucifer will destroy him.”

“Let’s hope not.”

There was a moment of nothing but the sound of Rowena’s quick, nervous breaths timed against Dean’s slow and careful one, and then Lucifer’s mouth flew open and a cloud of blue-white light flew out of it.

Rowena just watched for a moment and then she snapped into action, chanting a spell.

“Stop her!” Sam shouted.

Dean opened his mouth to use the words Sam had given him for the situation, but Lucifer was already acting for himself. He threw himself at the dirty window and it smashed, allowing him to fly out of it.

Castiel’s mouth opened and Crowley smoked out of it and back into his meatsuit. He got to his feet, brushing off his sleeves and said, “Tell me you stuffed him back in the Cage, mother.”

Rowena shook her head and pointed at the window. “He got away.”

“Bollocks.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, looking at the angel standing in the middle of the flames that were flickering like candles and dying. “Is that you?”

“Yes.” Castiel seemed to want to say more, and teetered on the verge of speech for a moment, looking between Crowley and Dean and then said, “Crowley told me… Is it… Is Sam dead?”

Dean nodded stiffly and Castiel’s face fell. “No.” It wasn’t an argument, but an internal refusal to accept the truth. “What happened to him?”

Dean tried to answer, but his throat was swollen shut again.

“It’s okay,” Sam soothed. “I’m here.”

But he was unhappy, Dean thought. He was suffering to be here. He hadn’t said it, but in his eyes and the sag of his shoulders as he’d said he felt dead, Dean had seen it.

He felt a prickling behind his eyes and he fought against it, not wanting to cry in front of Rowena and Crowley. He wasn’t in control though, and a tear slipped down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, but at the look of sorrow on Castiel’s face as the last flame died and he stepped out of the circle, another fell.

Castiel strode toward him and dragged him into a hug. Dean let himself be held, but he didn’t return the embrace. His attention was on Sam who was standing behind Castiel with a look of misery on his face.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said at the moment Castiel said the same.

Dean shook his head, refuting their apologies as he fixed his eyes on Sam and said, “It was my fault.”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “It really wasn’t.”

Dean looked away, unable to face him. It was Charun that had taken Sam’s soul and stopped his heart, it was Sam that had gone after him alone, but it was on him that Sam had died.

He was always supposed to take care of his little brother. 


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven_ **

 

 

Dean pulled away from Castiel and rubbed a hand over his face as Crowley snapped, “Well, that was just bloody perfect, Mother! I risk everything to get Satan out, and you screw up the spell so he escapes!” He picked up the horn with his hand covered by the sleeve of his coat and stuffed it back into the briefcase.

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Rowena retorted. “He was just too damn fast. And this was your plan to send him back. Did you expect him to hang around and wait while we put him back in the Cage? At least he’s out of Castiel. He’s going to need to find a new vessel before he can do anything.”

“Yeah, we got Feathers back,” Crowley said. “Which is awesome if you like watching him and Squirrel hugging it out, but for anything else, it’s pointless.”

“It wasn’t pointless,” Dean said, forcing himself to sound calm. “We’ve got an ally against Amara now that we wouldn’t have had if he was in the Cage. Lucifer _is_ going to want her stopped, so we just need to wait for him to get himself a new vessel and come for the horn.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Which is what you wanted originally, right? So was your little turnaround fake, too, or do you actually give a crap about what happened to your brother after all?”

Dean clenched his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms. “I care. But I know that stopping Amara matters more than revenge.”

“So you _did_ want him free range again! Did you do something to stop the spell?” Crowley asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No,” Dean said honestly, even though that had been the original plan and he would have done it if Lucifer hadn’t gotten himself out of there before it could really get underway. “But I did want him to stop Amara. If you weren’t so obsessed with what he did to you, you would want that, too.”

Crowley glowered. “I’m glad you got what you wanted at least. You have your feathered sidekick back. You must be so happy now.”

“Happy!” Castiel’s voice was a shout. Dean looked at him and saw his face was twisted with anger as he stalked towards Crowley. “Sam is dead! Do you really think that means Dean can ever be happy again?”

“Stop him, Dean!” Sam said quickly. “Crowley is angry enough to kill him.”

Dean unclenched his fists and grabbed Castiel’s arm. “Leave it, Cas. He’s just sounding off because he knows I’m right. We need Lucifer, and now we have him.”

Castiel stopped but did not relax. He still looked as though he wanted to swing a punch at the demon.

“I don’t know which of you are happy and which of you are insane with grief,” Crowley snarled. “Thanks to you dragging me into this, Lucifer knows I’m alive. He already killed me once, and that was without a good reason. Since I tried to stuff him away again, he’s going to come up with a whole new kind of pain for me. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a Winchester.”

“We didn’t drag you into anything,” Dean said. “You wanted him put away, too.”

Rowena glared at him, and for a moment Dean expected her to try to kill him as she had when he was powered by the Mark. It hadn’t worked out then, but he was pretty sure it would now. He was on the point of reaching for his gun when she turned away and walked to the altar where she stuffed the book into a bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“He’ll kill her if he finds her,” Sam said. “We need to keep her close.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean said, “You’re an open target to Lucifer on your own, Rowena. We can protect you.”

Rowena laughed harshly. “You protect me? I might consider it if Sam was alive, as he at least had the shoulders to pull it off, but you… No. You couldn’t keep your own brother alive, and you loved him. What makes you think you’ll do a better job this time? You loathe me.”

“Ignore her,” Sam said. “She’s just sounding off. It’s not true.”

Dean swallowed convulsively and crossed his arms over his chest. “Leave then,” he ordered in a bitter voice

 “I will!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’d be better off barricading myself in a bouncy castle than trusting you to do it.”

“Try that,” Dean said. “We’ll be sure to raise a glass for you once Lucifer snaps your neck again.”

“We’re going to need her for Lucifer later,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe don’t piss her off too much.”

Dean didn’t reply but he nodded slightly to indicate that he’d heard. He thought Rowena would complain, but she’d come back when it was time to serve her own needs. She would want Lucifer in the Cage if they could trap him somehow and get him out of his vessel. That was a problem Dean had no answer to now. It was unlikely they would be able to reach whoever he took next and persuade them to cast him out. Dean stowed the issue for now, knowing Amara was the more potent threat to them.

Rowena clacked across the stone floor in her heels, hips swaying under the tight dress, and to the door. She hesitated a moment before saying, “Enjoy your life with the insane Winchester, Castiel. Fergus…go to hell.” Her voice was sweet, even though the message wasn’t.

The door slammed behind her and Crowley sighed. “Well, that’s one migraine inducing shrew out of the way. I think I will take her advice and head downstairs. The Darkness hasn’t breached that yet, and Lucifer is going to be too distracted finding a vessel to come shove _me_ in a cage for a while. I might as well live my best life while I can.”

“Or you could _not_ be a coward and stick around and help,” Sam said, his confusion evident. “We need that horn, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean muttered. “I’m thinking.”

Castiel frowned. “What?”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, I forgot to share that nugget of Winchester Wisdom with you, Castiel. Dean is having conversations with himself now.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, looking between them in confusion. “What’s happened, Dean?”

Dean didn’t want to explain Sam’s presence to Castiel while Crowley was listening. “It’s nothing,” he said, trying to downplay Crowley’s snide remark.

Crowley looked gleeful. “He’s talking to _Sam_. Actually thinks he’s getting replies, too. Your fearless leader has lost the plot, cracked, gone guano. It would be funny in any other circumstances, but since we’re dealing with the end of the world and Lucifer is loose, it’s more annoying than anything.”

Castiel gave Dean a concerned look, and Dean shook his head. “I’ll explain later.”

“No, explain now,” Crowley said. “I’m off anyway.”

“Dean…” Sam said in a warning tone. “We need the horn.”

“Go,” Dean said, fixing his eyes on Crowley, “but leave the horn. When Lucifer comes looking for it, you’re not going to want to be the one hiding it.”

Crowley snorted.  “And you do?” 

“I don’t want to work with him, but I will if it saves the world,” Dean stated firmly “I’m not scared of him like you are.”

“Really?” Crowley said. “Where did this sudden surge of courage come from then? I know it’s not the voices cheering you on, as even imaginary Sam would be piss scared of Lucifer. You got any other, more encouraging voices rattling around in your head?”

Dean ignored the jibe and said, “It’s not courage. It’s sense. Amara will wipe everything out unless we find a way to stop her. Lucifer is our way to stop her. We wait for him to get a vessel. We give him the horn. We stop and watch as he destroys her. I get that _you_ are piss scared of him though, so you don’t have to stick around. We wouldn’t want you to end up licking floors again.”

Castiel shifted restlessly at Dean’s side, making him wonder how much of what was happening while he was possessed was he aware of? He’d seen enough to take over and save Sam from Lucifer once, but was that the exception or had he watched as Lucifer had Crowley in his cage?

Crowley looked like he wanted to leave anyway, but Dean’s accusation had been enough to make him need to retaliate. “Do you really think Sam is being strong now? Do you have any idea what Cipencel is like? It makes the hell you experienced look like a day at the fair.”

“I’m here,” Sam said, stepping between Dean and Crowley and staring him in the eye. “Ignore him. I’m not there anymore.”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded to Sam, who stepped aside, clearing his view of Crowley.  “I’m not talking about Sam. I’m talking about you. You don’t want Lucifer coming for you, so hand over the horn and go.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Crowley said, his head held high but his eyes betraying the lie.

Sam laughed softly. “Tell him to stay then. He might come in useful.”

“Then why are you in such a hurry to leave with the horn?” Castiel asked before Dean could speak. “Do you think you can use it to kill him?”

Crowley averted his eyes and Dean realized that was exactly what he was planning.

“And what about Amara?” Castiel asked. “Will it be enough for you to have killed Lucifer when she destroys the universe?”

Crowley seemed to consider his words. Dean was on the verge of prompting him, but Sam cautioned him to stay quiet a little longer.

Eventually, Crowley nodded and said, “So your big plan is to wait for Lucifer to find a vessel and come to you for the horn? Have you considered how long it might take him to find a suitable vessel? His bloodline is small. There’s only one that I know of that could work for him, and that’s what you might call an encore performance.”

For a moment, Dean felt sickened with horror at the thought of what he was saying: using Sam’s body to house Lucifer again. But sense caught up with him and he let out the breath he’d trapped in his throat. Sam wasn’t in his body. He couldn’t give consent. He was safe.

“Who are you talking about?” Castiel asked.

Crowley ignored the question. He walked toward Dean and thrust the briefcase into his chest. “You want it, you’ve got it. The lock is all sixes. I’ll arrange the vessel. The rest is down to you.”

Dean took the briefcase and held it at his side.

“Who is this vessel?” Castiel asked.

Crowley tapped the side of his nose. “You’ll have to wait and see. Dean, keep on with your conversations with dead people. Castiel, keep an eye on him. We both know that Winchesters are even less stable than usual when they’ve lost the other. I’m betting Squirrel is harboring some pretty hefty guilt right now.” He locked eyes with Dean and spat his last barb in revenge for Dean’s taunts about his cowardice. “You’re the reason he’s dead after all, isn’t that right, Dean?”

He smiled cruelly as he disappeared.

“It’s not true, Dean,” Castiel said quickly. “What happened to Sam wasn’t your fault.”

“You know that for a fact, Cas?” Dean snarled. “Was Lucifer maybe there watching when that bastard did it?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, of course not. I would have expelled him if I had known what was happening sooner. If I could have saved Sam—“

“You weren’t there though,” Dean bit out. “You were busy being Lucifer’s bitch.”

Castiel’s mouth pulled down and his eyes were sad, but Dean didn’t care. He hadn’t meant to say what he had, but if Castiel had been there, it might have ended differently, and he did blame him for that.

“I was there,” Sam said before Dean could throw another bard at Castiel. “And I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said solemnly. “I would have done anything to help if I could.”

“It’s not his fault either,” Sam said passionately.

“Enough!” Dean shouted. “Both of you, stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

He ignored Castiel’s confusion and concern, and strode out of the door to the Impala. Dean set the briefcase down on the bench seat and then climbed in beside it. As Sam opened the door and climbed into the back seat, Dean hit the horn and shouted, “Come if you’re coming.”

Castiel came out of the church and hesitated by the shotgun door as if waiting for permission to take what had always been Sam’s spot.

“Get in or run behind us,” Dean barked impatiently. “I’m going either way.”

Castiel opened the door and climbed in.

Sam shifted around on the seat and stretched his arms wide. “I haven’t been back here conscious for a while. I forgot how roomy it was.”

Though Dean could tell his humor was forced, it grated on him and he snapped, “Quit acting like that.”

“Like what?” Sam asked innocently.

“Like you’re okay. I know you’re not.”

He caught sight of Sam’s smile falling and a look of guilt appearing in the rear-view mirror, and he felt like an asshole all over again. Maybe it had helped Sam to act. He could have been handling how he felt easier when he thought Dean didn’t know about it, and Dean had just taken that away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said remorsefully.

Sam looked away out of the window and Dean met Castiel’s confused eyes instead.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“Sam,” Dean said, turning the key in the ignition and putting the car in gear.

“You’re going to need to give him more than that,” Sam pointed out.

Dean knew Castiel deserved an explanation if he wasn’t going to dismiss Sam as a hallucination the way Crowley and Rowena did, but he was so overwhelmed already that he didn’t think he could find the words to explain. Crowley’s words had cut him deep, and the fact Sam was struggling was even harder. What he wanted was to be alone for a while so he could vent his feelings without witnesses, but he couldn’t have that, he didn’t deserve to have that.

“Sam was killed,” he started.

“I know,” Castiel said sadly. “I am so sorry.”

“But he’s still here. He’s sitting in the back seat right now.

Castiel looked over his shoulder and then turned back to Dean. “I can’t see him.”

“Of course you can’t,” Sam said. “You’re not a god.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to. He’s tethered to me.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “I see.”

But he didn’t, Dean could tell he was just going along with it for his sake.

“He’s here, Cas!”

“You need to give him more,” Sam said. “Tell him what happened with Charun.”

“Fine! You win!” Dean snapped. “We were hunting Charun, Cas. He was taking unmarked souls to Cipencel. We thought we’d nailed down a blade that would work, but it was only bronze plated. He knocked me down and Sam went after him. Sam stabbed him but it didn’t work. I got there in time to see Charun take Sam’s soul. I went after him but he knocked me out. When I woke up, Sam was dead.” He shook away the memories of that awful moment that tried to overwhelm him. “Vanth was able to get him out of Cipencel, but she couldn’t bring him back properly. He’s tethered to me because we’re a special case.” 

“Sam is in Cipencel?” Castiel asked, aghast.

“I was,” Sam said. “Now I’m here, and if you’d actually listen to what you’re being told, you’d believe us.”

“He isn’t anymore,” Dean said strongly, hating even the idea of Sam being there. “He’s here.”

“But nothing comes back from Cipencel,” Castiel said.

“I did,” Sam said smugly.

“Charun was weakened by our attack so Vanth had a chance to slip into Cipencel and get Sam’s soul,” Dean said.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Castiel asked, and Dean knew he wasn’t enquiring about his physical wellbeing. He thought Dean was crazy.

“I’m fine for someone whose brother is dead,” he growled, angered by the question.

“I’m not—“ Sam started, but Dean spoke over him.

“But you feel it, so what’s the difference? You’re not happy with what you are.”

Sam sighed. “Dean…”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

Castiel was watching him with obvious concern as Dean yanked the wheel to the side and brought them to a skidding halt on the side of the road.

Dean slapped the steering wheel.  “I am not crazy! Sam is here!”

“I believe you,” Castiel lied.

“That’s convincing,” Sam said scathingly.

“Don’t lie to me, Cas,” Dean said, unable to keep his disappointment from his voice.

“I can’t see him,” Castiel said quietly. “It’s hard for me to imagine something that I can’t see when I see everything. I’m an angel.”

“And yet you can’t see the truth,” Sam said bitterly.

Dean looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Sam was scowling at the back of Castiel’s head. He looked like he wanted to throw a punch. Then, at some trigger Dean couldn’t see, Sam leaned back in the seat and said, “Tell him you know about our first hug.”

“Your first what?” Dean asked.

Sam grinned and started to tell Dean about the time he’d missed after Kevin’s death, when he’d been with Crowley and Cain. “Okay, Cas had just extracted Gadreel’s grace. It was undoing everything Gadreel had done, making me sick again, but I was telling him to keep going, even though it was killing me.”

Dean looked over his shoulder and gaped at his brother when he admitted that, anger and worry battling in him at what Sam had almost done, but Sam went on unconcerned.

“Cas made this speech about how every life was precious, even a Winchester’s. After, we did the spell, but there wasn’t enough grace. I hugged him, and he stood there like a shop window dummy before hugging me back. He called me pigheaded, too.”

Dean nodded and turned back to Castiel. “You called Sam pigheaded.”

Castiel’s brow pinched with confusion. “When?”

“When you were trying to get the grace for the spell to find Gadreel. He wanted you to keep going, but you wouldn’t. You made some speech and Sam hugged you while you stood there like a dumbass.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Sam could have told you about that.”

Dean rolled his eyes and said, “First of all, I’m not a liar—not to you, anyway. Second, Sam and I don’t sit around discussing our first hugs when you’re not around.”

“So pull your head out of your angelic ass and accept that just because you can’t see something, it might still be true!” Sam said, his frustration making his voice rise.

Dean felt himself smiling as he repeated Sam’s words to Castiel. “That was from Sam,” he added. “He’s hearing you acting like an asshole, too.”

“Sam can hear me?” Castiel asked, and there was something in his voice that made Dean think he was finally starting to believe.

“Yes!” Sam said. “And you are being an asshole.”

Dean repeated his words, expecting Castiel to smile, to look relieved maybe, but Castiel’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Because I’m dead or because you let Lucifer out?” Sam asked. Now Castiel was with them again, it seemed Sam’s initial anger had flared again.

Dean didn’t repeat Sam’s words this time, he asked, “Why did you let Lucifer out, Cas?”

Castiel had obviously expected the question as he showed no surprise and he had his answer ready. “Because I needed to. He is the only hope we had against The Darkness.”

“If you believe that, why didn’t you talk it out with me and Sam first?”

“Because there was no time. I had to act fast. I thought Rowena was putting him back. I didn’t know she was working with him. Even if I had spoken to you both, neither of you would have agreed. You would have tried to stop me.”

“Maybe you should have been stopped,” Sam said bitterly.

Dean nodded, but he agreed with Castiel. They would have stopped him, and it probably would have been a mistake. They were relying on Lucifer to stop Amara now, after all.   

Castiel looked over his shoulder, evidently trying to address Sam but looking in the wrong place. “I am sorry, Sam. I know it will feel like a betrayal to you, doing what I did, but I believed I was saving the world. I didn’t mean to negate your sacrifice, but it was the only way.”

Sam looked away from him.

“What did he say?” Castiel asked Dean.

“Nothing. I think he’s going to need a little time to process before he’ll be able to talk about it, Cas.” He looked at Sam who was staring out of the window at the rain that had begun to fall again and said, “If you really believe Lucifer is the only way to stop her, why are you here now? Why did you kick him out?”

“Because Crowley told me Sam was dead. I didn’t want to believe him, but I had to know if it was true. If it was, if he was really gone, I wanted to help you. I wasn’t thinking of The Darkness for a moment. I was only thinking of you and Sam.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said. “We needed you out. We still need you”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We really do.”

Dean smiled. “Sam think so, too,” he said in answer to Castiel’s questioning look.

Castiel smiled. “Thank you, Sam.”

Dean looked back and saw Sam was looking at Castiel with a furrowed brow. He wondered what he was thinking. It felt more real to Dean now that Sam was dead, as Castiel was here now and without a way to communicate with him other than through Dean. Was Sam feeling the same?

Sensing his scrutiny, Sam shook his head and smiled at Dean. “You planning on taking us home or are we going to wait here for Lucifer to find us?”

Dean laughed. “We’re going.”

He turned the key again and drove them into the stream of traffic that was passing them. He was pleased to have Castiel with them again, and they had the horn. They just needed to hope that Lucifer was as committed to stopping Amara as they thought. There was one bigger point of happiness for him though.

Sam had called the bunker home. 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean took the warded box from the shelf and carried it into the library where Sam and Castiel waited. Castiel was looking around as if searching for something, and Sam was watching him with a quirked brow.

“Tell him it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, he’s not going to see me,” Sam said. 

Dean chose not to pass on his words this time. He figured it would upset Castiel to be told, again, that he was never going to see Sam again.

He lined up the combination lock of the briefcase to sixes, popped it open, lifted the horn out with his hand covered by the hem of his sleeve, then stowed it in the box and snapped the lid closed.

Castiel examined the Enochian sigils Sam had carved into the box, his eyes concerned as he said, “I won’t be able to get to it now.”

“Hopefully, neither will Lucifer,” Dean said. “We don’t want him running off halfcocked with it. We need to play it smart, and that means making him stop and listen.”

Castiel looked to his right, in complete opposite direction to where Sam was, and asked, “How does Sam feel about that?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said. “I can handle it.”

“He’s good,” Dean lied.

Sam couldn’t be fine with it. He’d been scared when he’d seen Lucifer in the church, even though he’d fought it, and that wasn’t going away. Dean thought Lucifer would always scare Sam. How could he do anything else after everything he’d put him through?

“Add some demon protection,” Sam urged. “We don’t want Crowley running off with it.”

Dean opened a drawer of the dresser where Sam kept his notepads and stationery and found an indelible marker. He drew on the symbols that would keep demons out of it, too, recalling them easily as he and Sam had spent years trying to keep demons out.

“That’s good,” Sam said approvingly. “If Crowley manages to find a way in here, he’s not getting out with that.”

“Do you think he’ll try?” Dean asked.

“Try what?” Castiel asked, his eyes roving the room again.

“We were talking about Crowley,” Dean explained. “We were just saying if he does come, he won’t be able to get the horn.”

“I don’t think he’ll come,” Castiel said seriously. “He will want to stay as far away from Lucifer as he can. What Lucifer put him through…”

“It sounded pretty awesome,” Dean said.

“For us, perhaps, but for Crowley, it was a new kind of hell. He’ll never forget it.”

“I can think of a few people that never had a chance to forget after what Crowley did to them,” Sam said, his eyes dark. “Like Sarah. He killed her without hesitation when he wanted to pull us off of the trials.”

“I know,” Dean said gently.

Dean hated that they were working with Crowley on this. He would have liked to kill him for what he had done to them. Though it wasn’t all on Crowley, he was the one that had set Dean up with Cain to get the Mark in the first place. He wasn’t blaming him for everything he did under its influence, the death and destruction, but he owed him part of the blame for that and all the other lives he’d taken

“What do we do now?” Castiel asked.

Dean raked a hand over his face. “Hope Crowley’s vessel plan comes through and that we can find Amara when Lucifer is here. If you’re right, Cas, if he’s the one that can stop her, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And if he’s wrong, we’re all screwed anyway,” Sam said. He shook his head as if shaking away the thought and said, “You need to sleep, Dean.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said quickly. “Besides, this isn’t the time to take a nap. We’re waiting on Satan to stop The Darkness.”

“And we’ll wake you if he comes knocking, but you’re fried right now and need rest. I’m here, Cas is here, if anything happens, you’ll know straight away.” 

Dean knew he was right. He was dead on his feet, and now was the time to sleep, while Crowley was working on getting Lucifer a new vessel, but it felt wrong for him to be the only one sleeping in the place. Neither Castiel nor Sam slept, and Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to leave them all night, unable to communicate. Castiel had always just lurked around while they were sleeping, watching over them to use his words, but what was Sam supposed to do without constant reminders that Castiel couldn’t see him? Even reading a book was going to draw attention to the fact he wasn’t really there to Castiel.

“Bed, Dean,” Sam said sternly. “I’ll come tuck you in.”

“The hell you will,” Dean said, taking a step away from him and raising his hands, not responding to Castiel’s confused enquiries.

Sam’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “Fine, you can tuck yourself in, but we are going to talk.”

“About?”

“I’ll tell you when Cas isn’t listening.”

Frowning, Dean told Castiel he was going to catch a few hours of sleep and then followed Sam to his bedroom. When he got there, he sat down on the edge of the bed and bent to untie his boots. He stopped with his fingers in the laces and then straightened again. They didn’t know when Lucifer was going to arrive, but he figured it was better to be ready for action when he did, instead of meeting Lucifer in his socked feet.

Sam leaned against the desk, looking serious now that his laughter had faded.

“What do you want to talk about?” Dean asked.

He was expecting it to be something about Castiel and Lucifer again, explaining why he hadn’t wanted to talk in front of Castiel, but Sam looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you, Dean,” seriously.

Dean’s brows pulled together in a frown. “For what?”

“For not making a deal with Lucifer for me. For a moment I thought you would, and that scared me. We need him to stop Amara, but any deal he made would have screwed us over in the end. It’s better that I stay like this than he get the upper hand on us.”

“If I thought it would have worked, I would have made it,” Dean said without hesitation.

If Lucifer had been able to save Sam, he would have made that deal in a heartbeat, consequences be damned. It was only the fact he knew no one could bring him back that had stopped him trying.

“It wouldn’t have though,” Sam said. “We’d have ended up in a bigger mess than we are now.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah…” He hadn’t told Sam the whole story of his situation, and he realized it was finally time for him to do it. Sam needed to know. 

Sam cocked his head. “What aren’t you telling me, Dean?

“Vanth told me something,” he said. “It wasn’t just her that couldn’t bring you back properly. Billie and Crowley said it, too. No one has the power apart from Death, and since he’s dead…”

He forced himself to look at Sam and then had to swallow down a lump in his throat as he saw his stricken expression.

“No one can,” Sam finished for him, his voice a whisper. “That’s it. I can’t be saved.”

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. If I could—“

Sam held a hand, cutting him off. “It’s fine. It’s not even a surprise, really. If you could have gotten me back properly, you would’ve already. I know that. It doesn’t even matter.”

Dean wanted to wipe the horror from Sam’s face, but he couldn’t find the words. There was no reassurance he could give. Death was dead, and he was the most powerful being they’d ever come into contact with. He was the one that would reap _God_! There was no one stronger than him that they could call on.

He started to apologize again, but Sam pushed away from the desk and moved toward the door.

“Sleep, Dean,” he said. “We don’t know when you’ll get the chance again.”

“Sammy…”

Sam turned back, his hand on the door and said, “It’s fine, Dean. It’s not Cipencel. It’s not The Empty. It’s not even the Cage. I’m still here, right? We get to talk and I can do some stuff. Really, it’s okay.”

Dean knew he was trying to reassure him, but every word Sam said was like a dart against him. He should have told Sam sooner. How long had Sam been telling himself his situation was only temporary? How much had that helped him deal with what had happened, and how long had he been relying on Dean to fix it for him?”

“Stay,” Dean said. “Talk to me.”

Sam smiled slightly. “You hate talking, Dean. Seriously, go to sleep. I’m going to find a book to read. Maybe screw with Cas by flipping the pages. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He strode out of the room and closed the door behind him. Dean sat for a moment, wishing he could go after him without making it worse. He had let Sam down all over again by not telling him sooner. Now Sam was dealing with the threat of seeing Lucifer again compounded with the knowledge that there was no magic save for him this time. 

There had always been a save. They’d fixed it for each other, him, Sammy and Cas, and they’d come to rely on that. Dean thought he would lose his mind if he was in Sam’s position.

All he could comfort himself with was that Sam had always been stronger than him. He hoped that would remain true.

xXx

When Dean woke, there was a blissful moment when it was just another day in the bunker, maybe a late start after an early hour’s hunt with Sam. He figured he’d wake his brother and then they could get breakfast together before dealing with whatever nightmare dropped in their laps next. He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed and then went to the basin to splash his face with water to remove the last vestiges of sleep. He looked up into the mirror, and that was when he remembered. Though he was feeling good, his eyes told the truth, and the rush of memories came at him like a wave, reminding him that Sam was dead, and that, now, he knew it was for good.

He turned away from his reflection and turned on the faucet to cup the water in his hands. He washed his face and then wiped it with a towel from the dresser beside the basin. Making sure to avoid his reflection, he tossed the towel onto the dresser and left the room.

He planned to find Sam, to talk to him, so he headed through the empty library and war room toward the kitchen. He smelled bacon before he reached it, and he felt a wave of hope. Someone was cooking, and it was either Sam or Castiel. As Castiel had never cooked for him before, he knew it had to be Sam. He had to be doing better if he was cooking, not still bogged down by the knowledge of what had really happened to him—Could it really be that easy?—and Dean hurried his pace, grinning as he imagined how it would look for Castiel to have seen Sam cooking without being able to see the person moving the pans.

He reached the kitchen, and his greeting of, “Hey, Sammy,” died on his lips as Sam wasn’t there. It was Castiel that was tipping scrambled eggs from a skillet onto a large plate with a look of concentration.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, his voice duller than he’s intended it to be. He was on the point of asking if Castiel had seen Sam when he realized he couldn’t have, never could again even. “What’s this?” he asked instead.

“Breakfast,” Castiel said. “I thought you would be hungry as you only ate a little of your burrito on the ride home last night.”

“That’s because it came from a Gas N Sip, and it tasted like it looked.”

“I always enjoyed them when I was human.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was because he’d had a lifetime of road food before getting a kitchen to cook in for him and Sam, maybe it was just that Castiel’s taste buds had been damaged as a former angel, he was no longer satisfied with eating the crap he’d spent his life eating. He wanted real food now. 

“This isn’t a breakfast burrito,” Castiel said proudly. “I made this. Sit down.” He placed a plate of bacon in the middle of the table, added the eggs beside it and poured a glass of orange juice then watched Dean as he stood watching him.

What Dean wanted to do was find Sam and talk to him, but he didn’t want to upset Castiel either. He knew that Sam would have found him if he was ready to talk, though, and Castiel’s sad eyes above his smile told him that he and Sam weren’t the only ones struggling. Dean and Sam at least still had each other to remind themselves it wasn’t really over. Castiel had lost his friend and he was never going to see him again.

Dean pulled out the chair and sat down. Castiel beamed and handed him a spoon. “Help yourself.”

There was far too much food for one person, but Dean made an effort to put a dent in it by piling his plate high before picking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat.

Castiel looked around the room and then asked, “How is Sam today?”

Dean paused with the fork halfway to his mouth and said, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet.”

“I thought he was tethered to you.”

“He is, but he seems to have the run of the bunker as long as I’m in it. We’ve not really experimented with it properly.” Dean didn’t want to find out exactly how far away from him Sam could go. The point was to have Sam close to him, not apart. 

“Where is he then?” Castiel asked.

Dean wished he hadn’t asked. It made him feel guilty for not finding him straight away. Sam probably needed space to sort through what he’d heard from Dean and what it meant for him, but he might want to talk. He was the talker, after all. It was Dean that shirked the deep and meaningful chats about their problems.

He put down his fork and said, “I don’t know, Cas. We had a talk last night and—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “We just talked. I think he needs some time.”

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes searching Dean’s face. “And how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, too quickly for it to be believable.

Castiel frowned. “You can’t be fine, Dean, not after what’s happened to you.”

“It happened to Sammy, not me,” Dean said.

“It happened to you both,” Castiel corrected. “I won’t pretend to understand how you feel, but I know how I feel, and I am not fine.”

“It’s different for me,” Dean said. “I can still see Sam. He’s still with me.”

“That’s such a cliché, Dean,” Sam said, striding into the room.

Dean wondered how long he’d been there listening, unnoticed. He hoped he hadn’t been there long enough to hear Castiel’s declaration that he wasn’t fine, as that would twist Sam up even more. Though he looked much better now than he had the last time Dean saw him. He wasn’t wearing the face he wore when he was trying to hide how he felt. He just looked…normal.

Dean was relieved that Sam seemed to have processed what had happened and his smile was genuine as he said, “Cas made breakfast.”

“Good job, Cas,” Sam said.

Dean repeated it for Castiel’s benefit, and the angel smiled widely.

Sam boosted himself onto the counter and swung his legs. “Is it good?”

“Yes,” Dean said, frowning. “Get down from there. I make our food up there.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You make _your_ food there, and it’s not like I can spread germs. I’m dead, Dean. No germs. I don’t even have ectoplasm.”

Dean grimaced. “And I’m real grateful about that, but you don’t get a pass because you’re dead to sit on the counters.”

Castiel looked in the direction Dean was facing and said, “It is unsanitary, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes and slid down. “Better?”

“Much,” Dean said, then added, “He’s down, Cas.”

Castiel looked pleased and Dean began to eat again. Sam leaned against the fridge and watched him. With his scrutiny and Castiel’s, he felt self-conscious.

“If you two can find something else to stare at, that’d be great,” he said irritably.

Castiel quickly averted his eyes and apologized, and Sam laughed. “Sorry. It’s just the little things you miss.”

“You miss eating?” Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. “And sleeping. And showering. And being able to change my clothes. I don’t even like this shirt.” He plucked at his front, holding out the blue fabric for Dean to examine.

Cheered that Sam was doing better, even as he was sharing the things he missed, Dean pointed his fork at him and said, “That’s because it’s ugly.”

Castiel was watching him carefully, perhaps trying to make sense of the one-sided conversation, his brow furrowed. Dean was on the point of explaining what they were talking about when his phone rang and he pulled it from his shirt pocket.

“Crowley,” he muttered as he checked the caller ID and connected the call, putting it on speaker and setting it down on the table so Sam and Castiel could hear. “Yes?”

 _“Cheery greetings, Dean,”_ Crowley said. _“The weight of insanity getting you down?”_

“Do you have something important to tell me or are you just calling to annoy me?”

 _“I actually do have something to tell you,”_ Crowley said. _“I wanted to let you know that Lucifer has his vessel. It took a demon deal from an LSD tripping kid to bring the vessel back to life and some careful planning and a quick escape from yours truly, but he’s back and he’s going to come looking for the horn. Since he hasn’t shown up at my door, I’m assuming he’s coming for you.”_

“Thanks for the heads up,” Dean said. “We’ll call when he’s here.”

_“Or you could, you know, not. I don’t want to end up in a cage again. How about you let me know when The Darkness has been dealt with and we can all have a beer to celebrate.”_

“Real brave, Crowley,” Dean said sarcastically.

_“Unless you’ve actually been bitch-slapped by Satan, you don’t get to have a say. Moose would have got it. “_

Dean glanced at Sam and saw that his smile had been replaced by a look of fear. He’d know Lucifer was coming to them at some point, it had been his plan ever since he died, but Dean guessed knowing and being faced with it imminently were different. He was scared now.

“I’ll call you when we’ve saved the world, Crowley,” he said scathingly, cutting the call and look at Sam. “Sammy…”

Sam shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m good.”

“We need to prepare,” Castiel said.

“How?” Dean asked. “We’re not attacking him. We need him to come.”

“I mean prepare for the battle,” Castiel explained.

“How?” Sam asked. “It’s The Darkness. Nothing we have is going to help apart from the horn, and Lucifer needs to be the one that handles that.”

“How?” Dean asked for him.

“We need to track her down,” Castiel said. “Lucifer needs to know where to find her.”

“How?” Dean asked again.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted.

Sam walked away, and Dean called after him. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” Sam said without looking back.

Dean scraped back his chair and went after his brother, Castiel following him. He jogged to get ahead of Sam and stopped him with raised hands in the war room. “You shouldn’t be out there on your own.”

“He can’t do anything to me anymore, Dean,” Sam said, seeming to be bolstering himself with his words as well as trying to reassure Dean. “He can’t even see me anymore.”

“You should still stay,” Dean said, feeling a deep sense of foreboding that was separate to Lucifer’s impending arrival.

“I’ll be fine,” Sam said.

He walked around Dean and up the stairs to the door. He pulled it open, and Castiel gasped. At first Dean thought it was because he was seeing the physical evidence of Sam’s presence for the first time, but then Sam staggered back a step and started for the stairs again.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked him, worried by the look of fear in Sam’s face. 

His answer didn’t come from Sam, though. It came from the archangel that stepped inside and walked stopped just inside, looking over the railing into the war room.

Dean looked up at the familiar face of Lucifer’s original vessel, Nick, and felt a chill of fear that he’d not prepared himself for. There was no convincing himself that this was just the vessel brought back to life, as it was wearing the familiar look of superiority Lucifer had always worn, even when he was trying to ingratiate himself with Sam.

Lucifer looked down over the railing and said, “Dean, Castiel, I think you have something for me…”


	13. Chapter 13

Sam rushed to Dean’s side and stepped half in front of him as if to protect him. Dean finally understood his brother’s fear. It wasn’t that he was scared of Lucifer for himself. He was scared for Dean. If Lucifer attacked, there was nothing Sam could do to protect him, not that there ever really had been without Sam being able to wrestle back control as he had before. He would remember the beating Dean had taken with Sam’s own fists at Lucifer’s control, and he would be just as haunted by those memories as Dean was.

Lucifer looked back over his shoulder and said, “You have an automatic door. That’s new. I like it.”

“Don’t tell him,” Sam said quickly,

Dean nodded slightly to indicate he’d heard. He didn’t want to answer aloud as he didn’t want Lucifer knowing about Sam. He would mock them, maybe make it even harder for Sam. He could only hope Castiel was thinking on the same wavelength as he couldn’t warn him without tipping Lucifer off. 

Lucifer came down the stairs and stopped a few feet from them. Sam’s hands were fisted and shaking slightly. Dean had never wished he could touch Sam more, as even being able to stand at his side and be felt would have been a way to reassure him. As it was, he stayed back and waited for Lucifer to complete his intense scrutiny on the room.

“How did you get this vessel back?” Castiel asked. “He should be dead.”

Lucifer tapped his chin. “I can’t be sure, as he wasn’t there when I arrived—there was just an acid tripping teenager—but I think Crowley had something to do with it as the kid was talking about black eyes. He was also talking about dragons, so it could have just been a bad trip.” He raised his hands at his sides. “Either way, I’m happy to have Nick here back since _you_ kicked me out, Castiel.” He looked at Castiel and smiled cruelly. “How’s the grief counselling going? Is Dean feeling his feels properly with you at his side?”

Castiel clenched his jaw and didn’t answer him.

Lucifer looked gleeful. “I’m betting he didn’t tell you about that, did he, Dean? He was all set to tell Crowley to go back to hell, that I wasn’t shifting, but Crowley told a sad story about how Sam was killed, how you were breaking, and Castiel was all screwed up over it. I was actually quite surprised by the intensity of it. I knew he had softened up to humanity when I saw him with you in Carthage and Stull, but when he heard Sam was dead…” He whistled. “He really cares about you Winchesters; enough to doom the world, even. Tell me, Dean, does that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?”

Dean wasn’t surprised by what Lucifer was saying. Castiel would die for him or Sam, and they would die for him. They were family. He kept his expression neutral though, not wanting to give Lucifer the satisfaction of a reaction.

Lucifer tilted his head to the side. “Really, Dean, you don’t even care that Castiel had the big love for you? I bet Sam would have cared if he was here. Where is he, by the way? Did you roast him like a marshmallow?”

Dean swallowed hard. He would die to protect the secret of where Sam was buried from Lucifer. No matter what Sam said about it just being a body, it wasn’t to Dean, and he would not allow Lucifer to even see the grave, let alone desecrate it as he would want to.

“No one here feeling chatty?” he asked. “Lucky I have Nick here in my head, cheering me on. I would have been lonely otherwise.”

“Why did he give consent?” Castiel asked. “He should have learned from his mistake last time.”

“Same reason you did. He wanted to help me save the world. He knew I was the only one that could do it when I told him about The Darkness, and he knows I never lie.”

“You lie all the time,” Dean said.

“No, I don’t,” Lucifer said with satisfaction. “Never.”

“You pretended to be Castiel,” Sam pointed out, and Dean repeated his words for Lucifer and Castiel’s benefit, making the statement his own.

“You never asked if I was Castiel, so I didn’t lie,” Lucifer said, pointing at Dean. “I manipulated and tricked you, but I didn’t lie to you. Despite the title handed to me as the Prince of Lies, I don’t. Sam could have told you that.”

“You say that like there’s a difference,” Dean said, his loathing for the archangel in his voice.

“You know, I’m really not feeling the love here. I am going to save the world, and you’re still bitching because I fooled you. A little respect would be nice. How about you give me the horn and we can get this party started. Auntie Amara isn’t going to smite herself.”

“How do you know we have it?” Dean asked.

“Because Crowley would have given it to you rather than risk having to face me again. After what I did to him, I don’t think he’s ever going to want to face me again. Did you tell him about it, Castiel? It really was a thing of beauty. It wasn’t as good as what I did to Sam, obviously, but it was pretty good.” He smiled as if lost in memories of Crowley’s defeat.

Sam shifted anxiously, his hands clenching and opening, and Dean knew he needed to get Lucifer away from the topic.

“It’s in here,” he said, turning and walking into the library.

Lucifer and Castiel followed after him, and Sam stayed close at his side. Dean wanted to say something to him, but Lucifer would hear it clearly if he even whispered it, so he stayed silent and concentrated on looking at ease so Sam would see it and maybe feel the same.

He came to a stop at the table the warded box was on and Sam angled himself between Lucifer and Dean.

“Open it then,” Lucifer said impatiently.

Despite the fact that this had been their plan, Dean felt a moment’s hesitation before Sam’s softly spoken encouragement made him unlock the box with the key from his pocket and step back.

Lucifer’s eyes were greedy and his face eager, but he reached slowly for the horn, hesitantly, as if not completely sure what was going to happen when he touched it.

His fingers wrapped around the curve of the horn and it glowed red. Lucifer’s eyes turned white and his lips parted in a look of ecstasy.

As his eyes faded back to blue and the glow of the horn faded, he drew in a deep and shaky breath and said, “Whooee, this thing has a hell of a kick. Dad’s touch makes you feel alive.” He grinned at Dean. “Just as I remember. Now, let’s get this show on the road.” He dropped the now useless horn onto the floor and said, “Talk about a power trip. You can’t even imagine. Well, Sam could, he understood power, what with the demon blood and all, but believe me, this is pretty special.”

Sam’s jaw clenched and his back straightened. “He’s ready, Dean,” he said.

“What happens now?” Castiel asked.

Lucifer looked amused. “We find Auntie Amara, take her out, and then really start to have some fun. Any idea where she is?”

“No,” Dean said.

Lucifer shrugged. “I guess I better put out some feelers then. We should probably do it outside. I’m going to need some space, and I wouldn’t want to scuff your nice floor.”

He walked away from them and they rushed after him, up the stairs and to the door. Lucifer yanked it open and stepped out into the late afternoon light. He drew in a deep breath and said, “This should do.”

He lifted his hand and a bolt of lightning touched down on the ground a little ahead of him. Dean felt the static raise the hairs on his arms.

“Maybe you should save the God stuff for when you find her,” Dean said cautiously.

“This isn’t ‘God stuff’,” he replied with a gleeful smile. “This is all me. And I’m just warming up. I figure, as the last member on earth of the crew that locked her away, she’s going to be looking for me. Maybe a little show of power is all that she needs to show herself. Brace yourself.”

He lifted his hand again as the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled above and lightning struck down again.

“Amara!” he bellowed, his voice seeming to carry the high-pitched whine Dean had heard around angels before. It made him cover his ears.

Sam stepped closer to him and then jumped in front of him as an explosion of sound erupted in front of them and Amara appeared.

Unable to resist, Dean stepped around Sam, drawn toward her, as she looked around.

Her eyes fell on Dean and she smiled slightly, making Dean’s stomach twist. He wanted to be closer to her, drawn by whatever connection they had, but at the same time he needed to be close to Sam, to show him that he was strong enough to resist. The need to be with Sam won out, and he locked his muscles in place to add another layer of resistance.

Amara snapped her fingers and Rowena appeared beside her. She looked scared, but as her eyes fell on Dean, they became accusing.

“Hello, Dean,” Amara said gently and then her voice became cruel as she addressed Lucifer. “Nephew. It’s good to see you again. Especially as you are alone this time, not allied with your family to lock me away. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of what you did to me, and what it cost. I have something special planned for you.”

“I thought about what you did to me, too,” Lucifer said, and Dean detected real emotion in his voice now, not the theatrics he usually showed. “You weren’t the only one whose life was ruined. Thanks to what you did to me, I lost everything. I was sent to a place like you can’t even imagine.”

“I did nothing to you but enhance what was already there,” she said. “I was just a mark on your arm. Everything that happened was your own fault. You can’t blame me for the choices you made.”

Lucifer’s face darkened and he raised a hand. Amara looked amused and didn’t move to stop her when Rowena ran from her side toward them. Castiel grabbed her and pushed her behind him.

A ball of fire appeared on Lucifer’s outstretched palm and he threw it at her with a shout of rage.

Blue white light encased Amara, and Dean reached out a useless hand to Sam who was watching with tense eyes. 

There was a whine on the air, and Dean though that had to be it, Amara was going to be killed, but he heard a woman’s laugh and the light around Amara faded to show her unscathed.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asked Lucifer. “A brush of my brother’s power? That was the touch of a moth compared to my power.”

“No,” Sam moaned.

Lucifer threw out a hand again, but nothing happened. He had spent his power.

She laughed again. “I think you and I need to talk, Lucifer.”

She drew her hand towards her, and Lucifer was dragged forward, coming to a stop a foot from her. She looked past him to Dean, smiled once, and then both her and Lucifer disappeared in a blast of air that made Dean cover his face.

“It didn’t work,” Sam said in a wrecked voice. “He couldn’t do it.”

Dean nodded stiffly. Lucifer had been their only chance, and he’d failed. They had nothing else to try. She had won.

“I need a drink,” Rowena said shakily, turning and walking through the open door. Dean heard her heels clacking on the stairs.

With nothing better to do, Dean followed her inside and down the stairs, through to the library. Rowena picked up the crystal decanter and took a swig from the neck and then poured herself a large glass.

“Anyone else want one?” she asked.

Dean shook his head. What was the point in drinking now? What was the point in anything when Lucifer had failed?

She sank down on a chair and sipped her drink, her face even paler than her usual ivory.

“What happened?” Dean asked Castiel, wanting to know why it didn’t work. 

Though he had been looking at Castiel, it was Rowena that answered.

“She found me outside that church and carried me off. She wanted to know why I’d slipped off.”

“Slipped off?” Castiel asked.

Rowena sighed heavily. “Okay, fine, I was working with her. I thought I would do the smart thing and ally myself with the winning side for a change. But then she sent that bolt to heaven, and I realized I might have made a mistake. With that kind of raw power, I was no use to her. I was just a pawn to push around the board before the big checkmate end of the universe. You know the rest, I came to you and Fergus. I was planning on letting Lucifer slip through the net, but he did it for me. I decided to check back in with her, take my chances, but she found me and she was…upset. She made me tell her what had happened. She wanted to see Lucifer, she seemed excited about it even, and I was preparing another summoning when Lucifer showed himself and she dragged me along for the ride. Now I’m here, with the losing team, about to see the end of the universe.  I hope you know I hate you all.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Sam growled.

“She’s got Lucifer,” Castiel said. “We need to get him back. He’s our only chance.”

“He was no chance,” Dean said with a bite of anger. “There is no chance. We’re screwed.”

“We can’t give up,” Castiel said.

“It’s not giving up, it’s called defeat,” Sam said dully. “We threw our payload at her and she won. There is nothing we can do. She’s going to destroy the world.”

Dean repeated his words for them and Castiel’s face fell. 

Sam raked a hand over his face and walked out of the room.

Without giving Castiel a backwards glance, Dean followed Sam down the hall to the living quarters. Sam opened the door to his bedroom and strode inside. He didn’t close the door behind him, which Dean took as permission to enter. Sam was standing in front of the mirror, his hands clasping the sides of the basin. Dean noticed that he had no reflection. He could see the opposite wall in the mirror as if Sam wasn’t between them, Dean realized that Sam was there for a reason. He was showing not only his defeat, but his complete ineffectualness. The world was ending and Sam couldn’t even pretend to help. He couldn’t even cast a reflection.

Dean turned away and sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed.

“It’s over,” Sam said aridly.

“I know.”

“We failed.”

“We never stood a chance,” Dean said. “Nothing we could have done was going to put a dent in her power.”

Sam nodded and came to sit down beside Dean. “It was good while it lasted,” he said.

“It was,” Dean agreed.

It hadn’t all been good, there had been pain and loss along with the happiness, more pain that anything really, but they’d had each other. There was nothing left for Dean now but an eternity in the darkness with Amara.

The same thought was obviously in Sam’s mind as he said, “At least you’ll have her. You’ve got that connection. It won’t be so bad.”

“I might have you. We’re connected, too.”

Sam shook his head. “She won’t let me stay, Dean. She wants you for herself.”

“She won’t know.”

Sam’s lips curled in a stiff smile. She’ll know. She could see me. She looked right into my eyes. It makes sense, if a pagan god can see me, she’ll be able to. She is _the_ God’s sister. I’m going to be blinked out into nothing and you’ll have her.”

“I don’t want her,” Dean growled.

“Don’t you?” Sam asked. “You could be happy with her. You have that bond.”

Dean looked at him incredulously. Did he really believe Dean was going to be happy without him there? He had a bond with Amara that he couldn’t deny fully, but his bond with Sam was so much stronger. He needed his brother there, not her.

“Damn, I wish I could get drunk,” Sam said.

Dean did too, but he didn’t want to leave Sam. If these were the last minutes, hours, days, they would have together, he was going to make the most of them. They had no idea when Amara was going to destroy it all.

“Maybe it’s better for it to be quick,” Sam said. “I probably won’t even know it’s happening, and it will be better than…” A look of pain crossed his face.

Dean felt his heart clench with worry. “Better than what?”

“It wasn’t as bad as the Cage, but Cipencel really was a kind of Hell, and when I was brought back, I thought it was great. I wasn’t hurting anymore. But I figured it was just a step. I thought I was coming back for real sooner or later, that something would happen like it always does, but this...” He sighed. “Being half here, half gone, it’s too much. I can’t handle it. I hate that it’s the whole world going with me, the universe even, but I am not scared for it to end for me. I think it will be a relief.”

Dean swallowed hard. He’d known it was bad, but he hadn’t realized just how much Sam was suffering. He saw through the smiles and laughter now to what Sam had been trying to hide from him. While Dean was happy to have this part of his brother back, he’d also had the world. Sam was less than a ghost. All he had was Dean and that was going to end soon, too.

“What can I do, Sammy?” he asked.

He wanted to know how he could help, how to make it better, but Sam either didn’t take the meaning of the words or he chose not to. “I figure we just wait for the end,” he said.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess there’s nothing else we can do.”

Silence fell between them that Dean had no words to break. He felt he should be saying something, comforting Sam, but there was nothing he could say to help either of them. They were defeated.

Something caught his eyes on the desk. It was Sam’s only real private item in the bunker; the wooden box of Sam’s prized belongings. Dean had one, too, the photographs and mementoes inside that hadn’t already been dotted around his room.  A line of light was peeking around the edge.

“What’s that?”  he asked.

Sam shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Dean wasn’t sure it did, but a lifetime of investigating the strange and protecting Sam made him need to know. He got up and walked to the desk, then glanced back at Sam. He’d never looked inside before, it was Sam’s, but Sam didn’t seem to care. He was watching Dean with an expression of disinterest.

Dean opened the box and saw the source of the light was something beneath a photograph of the two of them taken by Bobby years ago. He pulled it out and sucked in a breath. It was the necklace he had worn most of his life before discarding it in motel trash after his faith had been broken. He’d regretted the action many times over the years, but the shock of finding it now was overshadowed by the fact it was glowing with blue-white light.

He held it out to Sam’s whose eyes widened. “But that’s… Cas said it would glow when…”

“When I was close,” a voice said from the doorway.

Dean’s head snapped to the side and he saw Chuck standing there, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie and his eyes sad.

Chuck looked from Sam to Dean and said. “I figured it was time for us to talk.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sam stared at Chuck as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Are you really God?” he asked.

Chuck smiled slightly. “I am. I can see why it would be a struggle to believe, though. The Chuck you knew was a—”

“Alcoholic hack writer and pretty much a coward?” Dean suggested.

He didn’t care that he was facing off with God. All he could see when he looked at Chuck were all the times he hadn’t been there for them. When they were on the mat, desperate for help, he’d not shown and they’d been left to mop up the mess in his world alone. They had died because he hadn’t been there, Sam had gone to the Cage for the world, and Chuck was there now, acting like it was nothing.

“Well, I’m not really an alcoholic, but I guess you can make a case for the other two. I can’t write, and I’ve not stepped up to my duties. I’ve left you guys to handle things.”

“Then what are you doing here now?” Sam asked.

Chuck came a little deeper in to the room and addressed Sam, not meeting Dean’s furious gaze. “I wasn’t going to come, not yet anyway, but there was something I needed to do first, and I figured there was still time for me to take a break.”

“You took a break for the life of the universe,” Dean accused.

“Not really,” Chuck said. “I was here in the beginning. I did…maybe not my best, but I was here. I thought I could keep that up a little longer with you two around, but then—”

“Sammy died,” Dean said, his heart aching with the remembered pain of what had happened.

“Sam died,” Chuck agreed, looking annoyed by the second interruption. “At first that didn’t seem to make much of a difference.”

Dean gaped at him. No difference? Sam had been in a kind of hell and then had been brought back to this half-life that was an apparently different kind of hell for him. And he hadn’t even been able to share it. He had managed to play it cool most of the time, not showing Dean just how hard it was for him, and Dean had let him. He hadn’t pushed Sam to talk because he was scared of the answers. He reasoned it away as giving Sam space, letting him keep his secrets as he would want to if it was him, but all that time Sam had been struggling.

“You were both still working the problem,” Chuck went on. “So it was safe to wait, to do what I needed to do, but you’ve given up now, so I had no choice but to come back. You’ve both given up before, when you haven’t been able to shoulder the weight, but that was okay because the other took the load until you could. But this time it’s both of you, and Castiel isn’t strong enough to go on alone. You forced my hand. I need to step up.”

“You should have stepped up a few thousand times before,” Dean said, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he worked to control his anger. “The world has needed you. We’ve needed you. We fought an apocalypse started because of your sons.”

“It wasn’t them,” Sam said quietly. “I did it.”

“No!” Dean said, his voice rising. “It was on them. Lucifer’s demons made you what you were. Zachariah trapped me in that place so I couldn’t come stop you in time. They wanted it the whole time. It’s down to them.”

Sam shook his head and looked down at his knees.

“Dean is right, Sam,” Chuck said, making both pairs of eyes snap up to him. “You made your mistakes, but it was a path you were set on before your birth that led you there. I could have intervened, but I never did. I told myself it wasn’t my problem, that Michael and Lucifer should fight, but it was an excuse. I just wasn’t ready to come back. I am back now, and I am prepared to clean up the mess my mistakes made, but are you ready to do your part?”

“Can you bring Sam back?” Dean asked. If Chuck would do that, he would do anything, give anything.

“I can’t,” Chuck said. “There are rules to the universe. My sister and me. Heaven and Hell, Zericel and Cipencel. It’s all balanced. I can’t take from one without affecting the other.”

“But Sam isn’t in Cipencel anymore,” Dean said. “He’s here. You just need to bring him the rest of the way, put him back in his body.”

Chuck shook his head slowly. “Sam isn’t really here. His consciousness is, the part of him that thinks and feels, but his true soul in the Cipencel.”

“I’m soulless?” Sam asked, his mouth dropping open.

“Of course you’re not,” Dean said, his angry eyes fixed on Chuck. “You were different last time. You’re still you now.”

“You are still connected to your soul,” Chuck explained. “You retain the purity of it, but it’s there still. That’s why this is so hard for you. Even though you can’t feel it, your soul is there.”

“Is it being mutilated again?” Sam asked, his tone neutral as if the answer didn’t matter to him, when Dean knew it mattered more than almost anything. Sam’s soul had already been damaged so much by what had happened to him in the Cage, the thought of more suffering for it was abhorrent to them both.

“It’s there,” Chuck said in lieu of a real answer.

Sam looked away, biting his lip.

Anger surged in Dean. “So he’s there still, being hurt and making him feel like this, but you won’t save it because of some crap about balance?”

Chuck’s expression darkened but Dean didn’t care. He owed him nothing. The debt was owed by Chuck. He was the one that had abandoned them, was still refusing to help.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “We’ve got way bigger problems than what’s happening to me.”

“You do,” Chuck agreed. “This is about the universe.”

“I don’t care,” Dean spat.

“Yes you do,” Sam said. “We both do.” He looked up at Chuck. “What are you going to do?”

Chuck’s eyes lightened again and he said, “We should all talk together. This is going to take more than just my help.”

They walked after Chuck into the library where Rowena and Castiel were sharing a decanter of whiskey. Rowena was slumped over the table and Castiel staring down at his glass. Neither of them seemed to notice Chuck’s arrival with Sam and Dean at first. He was almost at the table with them before Rowena looked tried to focus her bleary eyes on Chuck.

“Who’s the creepy uncle?” she asked.

Castiel looked up and then lurched to his feet, his eyes wide. “It’s my Father.”

Rowena’s brows pinched together. “I thought your father was… Oh God!”

Chuck smiled. “Exactly. Nice to meet you, Rowena.” His eyes moved to Castiel who looked scared, and his eyes softened. “Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel nodded jerkily.

“You don’t need to worry,” Chuck said reassuringly. “I’m here to help now.”

Castiel licked his lip nervously. “What about the things that have already happened?”

Chuck smiled. “I forgive you.”

Dean felt a surge of irritation. Chuck should be the one asking to be forgiven. The things Castiel had done wrong had been part of him trying to clean up the messes Chuck’s absence had caused.

“You don’t need to be forgiven, Cas,” he said, glaring at Chuck. “You were trying to help when you screwed up. We all were.”

Chuck looked angry, and Dean bunched his fists.

“Calm down, Dean,” Sam said firmly.

“Are you hearing him?” Dean asked angrily.

“I hear him, and I agree with you, but Cas needed to hear that from him, and, Chuck is here now. It’s him or nothing if we want to save the world. We’ve got to work with him.”

“He’s not helping you,” Dean growled.

Sam looked sad. “Just because he can’t bring me back doesn’t mean he’s not helping. I want to stop Amara, and he’s our best shot at doing that.” He paused and considered for a moment. “He’s our only shot.” 

Dean understood what he was saying, and he knew Amara did need to be stopped, but what he wanted from Chuck was for him to bring Sam back, and he couldn’t do it. Now he knew the truth of what Sam felt and what was happening to him, it was even harder to accept Chuck’s presence.

Chuck nodded to Sam and said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Castiel. I owe you more than forgiveness. I owe you thanks. The things you did were to protect humanity and Heaven. You are my son.”

Castiel’s lips parted and he looked awed.

Dean nodded stiffly, satisfied, and Chuck took a deep breath.

“I need you to help me protect humanity again, all of you. For this fight I need Lucifer, and you can help me get him.”

Sam flinched and Dean was sure he was thinking of Dean again. Dean wasn’t worried. Lucifer was no threat now that Chuck was there. Maybe Chuck would even do them a favor when it was all over and kill him for them. It would save Dean needing to do it.

“Amara has Lucifer,” Castiel said.

“I know,” Chuck said. “But I can’t stop Amara without his help. I need his strength to lock her away. There is no time to bring back the other archangels, even if I thought it was a good idea, so I have to work with what I have. Lucifer has proved that he wants Amara stopped. I hope that will be enough to persuade him to work with me.”

Dean had forgotten, caught up in his own feelings that he wasn’t the only one that had a grudge against Chuck, Lucifer had a pretty big bone to pick with him, too. Dean had known he resented him for Michael banishing him to the Cage, but now that he knew the story of the Mark, he thought he understood Lucifer a little better. It didn’t come close to excusing what he’d done, but it did explain how he had gone from being God’s brightest to his adversary. 

“How do we get him back?” San asked.

“We need to give her what she wants.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “That’s you.”

“Exactly. If I go to her and offer an exchange, she’ll free Lucifer. When Lucifer is recovered, you can come for me.”

“Recovered from what?” Sam asked.

“Amara is torturing him. She wants me to come for him. I will.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, his expression skeptical. “So we’re supposed to nursemaid Lucifer from the torture—which by the way is awesome, it’s about time he got a taste of it—while you are Amara’s prisoner, and we’re supposed to come get you, without a Hand of God to even power Lucifer up a little?”

“I can make you another Hand of God,” Chuck said. “But you won’t need it for this battle. You’re going to gather other allies to fight.”

“We have allies?” Dean asked, an amused eyebrow raised.

“We do,” Sam said with a look of dawning comprehension. “With Cas, Rowena and Crowley, we can get all we need: angels, witches and demons.”

“I can gather a few witches,” Rowena said obligingly. “Even with how much most of them hate me, they will want a world to hate me in.”

“And Crowley has plenty of demons,” Sam went on.

“I can assemble the Host,” Castiel said, looking at Chuck. “If they know you’re here, they will do whatever is asked of them.”

“Perfect,” Chuck said with satisfaction.

“Can’t we just use these allies to kill her?” Dean asked.

“You’re forgetting about balance, Dean,” Chuck said. “She needs to exist in some form. We are both needed in the world.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d already heard enough about balance to last him a lifetime. 

“What’s to stop her killing you though?” Sam asked. “She’s not going to care about a balance.”

“She doesn’t want my life,” Chuck said. “She wants revenge.” He looked between Castiel and Rowena and said, “Tell Crowley what we need. Have him come here and then assemble your own allies. Sam and Dean are coming with me.”

Rowena frowned. “I thought Sam was dead.”

Chuck smiled slightly. “You haven’t spent enough time with them to know yet, Rowena, but to the Winchesters, death is just a step to life.”

“Except this time, right?” Dean said bitterly.

Chuck nodded. “Yes, except this time.” He drew a deep breath and turned to Rowena. “But Sam is still here, in a form. You just can’t see him.”

“So he’s not lost his mind,” Rowena said thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s some good news at least. A sane Winchester is a better ally than a crazy one.”

“We should go,” Chuck said.

“Wait!” Sam held up a hand looking concerned. “What about the Mark? Where exactly are you planning to trap her? Who’s taking it this time?”

Chuck turned to Dean and Dean saw the answer in his eyes. His heart sank. He was going to have to take it again.

“I was hoping you would, Dean.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “Better me than anyone else, I guess. I’m already damaged goods.”

“No!” Sam’s voice rose to a shout. “You can’t ask him to do this again!”

Chuck looked apologetic as he said, “It’s not ideal. If I had the choice, I would ask you to take it, Sam, but I can’t. Dean is the only other person I trust with it, with her.”

Sam’s hands clenched into fists. “And when it makes him crazy with bloodlust again, when he becomes a demon, what happens then? It ended bad last time.”

“I know,” Chuck said. “I saw.”

Sam looked furious. “You saw it and you didn’t stop it.”

Dean wasn’t surprised that Sam was angry now. They could both take the blows when they were directed at themselves, but when there was a threat to their brother, they reacted. Dean was angry at Chuck for his failings, but most of all for what they had cost Sam. Sam was angry now because he saw how Chuck had let Dean himself down.

“I couldn’t have stopped Dean taking the Mark, and I couldn’t have stopped you saving him. Even I can’t get in the way of you two when you’re committed to something, especially each other.”

“Dean went through hell because of that mark!” Sam growled.

“I won’t let that happen again,” Chuck said. “I will take him somewhere he cannot hurt himself or anyone else. You will be with him. It will be okay.”

Dean thought that was probably the best option. He didn’t want to take the Mark back, but he would to save the world. And he wouldn’t lose Sam. If he couldn’t hurt people, the Mark would be easier to handle, and Sam would be there to help him ride it out. It was probably the best outcome they could hope for.

“I’ll do it,” Dean said.

“No, Dean!” Sam said angrily.

“We don’t have a choice, Sammy. I’m the only one.”

Sam turned away.

“Now, we need to leave,” Chuck said. “The longer we stay here arguing, the more damage Amara will do to Lucifer.”

Dean scoffed. They could wait a week as far as he was concerned. Let Lucifer feel even an idea of what he had put Sam through.

“The more hurt he is, the longer he will need to recover,” Chuck said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Let’s go then.”

Chuck nodded and Dean felt the disorientation before his feet hit a concrete floor and he found himself in the garage beside the Impala, Sam and Chuck standing on the opposite side of the car.

“We’re driving?” Sam asked.

“Not technically,” Chuck said. “But you need a means of escape when you have Lucifer. He may not be able to fly if she’s hurt him as badly as I fear.”

Dean shrugged and opened the door. “Fine. We might as well go.”

He got in behind the wheel and Sam slid into shotgun. Chuck sat in the middle of the backseat and said, “Hold tight.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said, but they were already in motion. He gripped the steering wheel and looked at Sam as they appeared outside an old warehouse.

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

“Just outside Oklahoma City,” Chuck said, opening the door and climbing out.

Dean and Sam did the same and looked up at the building with its heavy doors and windows set high in the walls.

“Are you ready?” Chuck asked. “You know what you need to do?”

“Grab Satan and run,” Dean said huffed. “We know.”

Chuck’s brows contracted but he didn’t object to the name Dean had used for his son. “Then let’s go.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Chuck gestured lazily and the doors to the warehouse flew open, smashing into the wall with a sound like thunder. For the first time, Dean got a real sense of the power Chuck possessed. It was more than the action itself; he’d seen angels and demons do the same without breaking a sweat. It was the look on his face as he did it. He was going in there to give Himself up to Amara, and he was furious. Dean thought his fury was more about the fact she had taken Lucifer and was torturing him than the threat she presented to the world, too. He would feel the same if it was Sam, but Sam wasn’t an evil monster like Lucifer was.

“Come on,” Sam muttered, following after Chuck into the building.

Dean rushed to catch up, wanting to be at Sam’s side when he went inside to face both Amara and Lucifer. They entered and Dean looked around. Amara was facing away from them, her hand held palm-out toward Lucifer, and a stream of light pouring from it into Lucifer’s already bloody chest.

Lucifer was in obvious agony, and though Dean could appreciate the sight of his pain, he was also calculating just how hurt the archangel was and how long it would take him to recover enough to be useful to them, how long they were going to have to wait and be around him while he healed.

Amara didn’t turn, but she did call, “Just a moment,” over her shoulder, showing no sign of fear at the fact someone had blasted open the doors. Perhaps she assumed she was stronger than anyone that might come.

“Stop,” Chuck said, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

Amara’s hand fell to her side and her back stiffened. Lucifer, held by invisible bonds, sagged against them, breathing hard as the pain ceased for a moment.

Amara turned slowly, her eyes wide, and Dean saw a flicker of a smile at the corners of her lips when she caught sight of Chuck. It was quickly replaced by a stony look. Dean wondered if anger was the only emotion she held toward her brother or if there was still some love there that she was trying to hide.

“I have been looking for you, Brother.”

“I know,” Chuck admitted.

“And you were hiding.”

He shook his head. “Not hiding, but I was delaying this.”

Her hands fisted at her sides. “An eternity with me locked away wasn’t enough for you? You made me wait even longer!”

Chuck met her eyes unflinchingly. “I wasn’t ready. Please, let Lucifer go.”

She laughed. “I knew you would come for him. You can have him.”

She waved a hand and the bonds of Lucifer fell away, and he stumbled away from the wall. Being careful not to meet his Father’s eye, he staggered forward and stood beside Him.

“Hello, Lucifer,” Chuck said.

Lucifer gave no indication that he had heard at all. His shoulders were held stiffly and his back straight, though Dean could see a tremor that revealed that Lucifer was in pain despite the show of strength.

“You’re not running,” Amara said, tilting her head to the side. “I thought you would try once you had him.”

“Would you let me?” Chuck asked.

“No, but I would expect you to try at least.”

Chuck shook his head without breaking eye contact with his sister. “Sam, Dean, take him.”

Dean forced himself to touch Lucifer, taking his sleeve and tugging, but Lucifer pulled away and said, “I’m not leaving. I’m going to watch Him _end_ you.” His lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl.

Amara looked amused. “So brave now your Father is here.”

“I am not here to end you,” Chuck said. “I came to give you what you wanted.”

“And what do I want?” she asked.

“Me,” Chuck said with chilling calmness.

Dean was disconcerted by what was happening. He had come expecting a fight, for Amara to show her true strength at last, but the fact they were just talking to each other seemed even more menacing. He wanted to get Sam and Lucifer out of there.

“Come on, Lucifer,” he snapped. “Move.”

Lucifer ignored him and stared at Amara who sighed heavily.

“You have come to give Yourself up to me to save Your favorite son, Brother, but he doesn’t want to leave, so what are you going to do? Kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Chuck said sadly. “I love you.”

Dean saw a flash of happiness cross her face that she quickly banished and scowled. “Then what are you going to do.”

Seemingly unconsciously, Chuck’s eyes darted to Dean as he rubbed at the prickle of pain that centered on the point the Mark had been. It was as if his body was reacting against his will to the prospect of having back the thing that made him powerful.

Amara’s eyes widened. “You want to trap me again!”

“You’re giving me no choice,” Chuck said sadly. “You’re going to destroy everything I made.”

“I won’t be trapped again,” she snarled.

Chuck’s arms rose towards her as if reaching for an embrace. “Then you have to stop.”

“Because you say so?” she said with a bitter laugh. “I am not your subordinate, Brother. I am your equal. You might have raised yourself high to the humans you created, but I know who you really are.” Her face darkened. “I know how to hurt you.”

Dean felt a wave of fear. He didn’t know what Amara was capable of doing to Chuck, but His gentle way of dealing with her so far made Dean wonder if He would fight back.

“Get him out of here, Dean!” Chuck shouted, so much power in his voice that it pressed in on Dean’s eardrums.

Dean grabbed Lucifer around the chest and dragged him backwards. Lucifer was either too stunned or too weakened to resist as he moved. Dean moved them back, his skin crawling where it touched the archangel, and he looked to his right to make sure Sam was with them. He was, and his face was as horrified as Dean felt.

“Stay,” Amara commanded. “Watch.”

Dean’s shoulders collided with something solid. He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing to block him, but when he tried to move again, he met the same resistance. Amara had trapped them there. She wanted an audience to witness what she was going to do to Chuck.

Lucifer pulled himself free and staggered toward where his father stood, but Chuck flung out an arm that pushed him back.

The moment he had taken to save Lucifer was the opening Amara needed to attack. She flung out both hands towards him and white light poured from her palms and into Chuck. He rose into the air and hung suspended there.

“Dean…” Sam said nervously.

“I know,” Dean said. There was nothing they could do. Stepping between Chuck and Amara would kill him on contact with the light, he was sure, and Chuck would be in just as much danger as he was now.

The light streaming into Chuck faded, and Dean thought for a moment that she was going to be content with only trapping him, and then flung out her hands again and tendrils of black smoke funneled into the air towards him. They made contact with his chest and Chuck’s head flew back in a silent scream of pain as a hole that poured out white light appeared. The smoke spread, and with each contact there was more light streaming from Chuck, breaking though the darkness until it completely enveloped him and the smoke was obliterated.

“Chuck!” Sam shouted.

Amara lowered her hands, breathing hard, and Chuck dropped to the concrete floor, unmoving. 

“He’s not dead,” she said. “He will die, though, but not until He has seen His creation burn.” She stared down at the unconscious Chuck and said. “I will not be trapped.”

She disappeared and Dean moaned. “What do we do now?” he asked helplessly.

Lucifer had failed, Chuck was dying, and Amara knew their plan. She was going to destroy the universe now instead of waiting, and there was nothing else they could do.

“We get Chuck out of here,” Sam said determinedly. “We’ll get him home and work out what to do next. We still have allies.”

Dean looked at him and saw Sam was no more confident in his words than Dean was. He was playing the part for Dean’s sake, so Dean did the same. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll come up with something.”

Chuck stirred feebly and Dean walked towards him. “You okay, Chuck?”  he asked.

Chuck’s eyes open and he grimaced with pain. “I think we need a new plan, guys.”

“Yeah, we do,” Dean said. “So let’s get you up and out of here.”

He hoisted Chuck to his feet and supported him as they walked to the door. Amara’s obstruction had disappeared with her. He was almost at the door when he realized Lucifer hadn’t followed them.

He looked back over his shoulder and said, “You coming?”

Lucifer sneered at him as he said, “I’m coming,” and staggered toward them.

He was making no secret of the fact he was pissed, but Dean didn’t care. Lucifer could throw all the tantrums he wanted. Dean had bigger worries.

The world was ending. 

xXx

Chuck seemed to recover somewhat on the ride back to the bunker, but nowhere near enough for Dean to believe He was a match for Amara.

When they pulled up outside, Chuck was able to get himself out of the car and walk slowly to the door. Dean stayed at his side in case he stumbled, and Sam followed.

Dean stopped just inside the door and called over his shoulder to Lucifer who was standing on the threshold. “Are you coming in?”

“Not until I get an apology,” Lucifer said.

Sam slammed the door in his face. “Stay out there then.”

Dean noticed that Sam seemed less scared now. He wasn’t sure whether it was because Lucifer was so weakened himself or because the world was ending, but Sam seemed to have found a strength to face him, even unseen. With the threat Sam feared he posed to Dean.

Chuck and Dean made slow progress down the stairs and into the war room where Chuck eased Himself down into a chair with a sigh.

Castiel and Rowena came through from the library, and their faces tensed when they took in Chuck slumped in his chair.

“What happened?” Castiel asked.

“Amara,” Dean said. “She realized what we were planning to do to her, and she bitch-slapped Chuck because of it.” He addressed Chuck. “I’m sorry. It was my fault that she figured it out.”

Chuck shook His head. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. She could have killed you as easily as she has me.”

Castiel gasped. “You’re dying! I didn’t think that was possible without Death.”

“It’s possible,” Chuck said with a pained sigh. “It’s happening.”

“What do we do?” Castiel asked. “Heaven is assembled. Rowena has gathered her witches and they’re coming here. Crowley is—“

“Here,” Crowley said, coming in from the library with a glass of whiskey in his hand which he raised in a causal toast. “God. Good to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work, especially souls.”

Chuck nodded. “Thank you. I’m not sure what good allies can do now. We needed to weaken Amara to trap her in the Mark, but now she knows, she’ll be ready. And I am not anywhere near as powerful as I need to be. Even if I had the strength of all the archangels behind me, I might not be able to do it.”

“What do we do then?” Sam asked desperately. “We can’t just give up.”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Chuck said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and Dean guessed no one had told him the truth of Sam’s continued presence. 

“I am dying,” Chuck went on. “Soon the sun will die and the earth will be destroyed. The universes will collapse and all worlds will blink out. And that is if my sister does not act first. She can choose to destroy it all at any moment. One way or another, she’s going to have what she wants again. Darkness.”

“She’ll have Dean, too,” Sam said, his face stony. “You can’t let that happen.”

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he said. “I can feel myself dying. I won’t be here to maintain the balance.”

“Balance,” Dean spat. He was sick of hearing the word. Balance meant he couldn’t have Sam back. Balance was ending the world.

“Wait,” Castiel said, holding up a hand. “If the world is ending because of the shift of balance, we need to return it. If she doesn’t exist either, the scales would be even again.”

“You want to kill her,” Chuck said.

Sam gaped at him. “You don’t want us to?”

Chuck was silent for a long time before saying, “I don’t want to kill my sister any more than you would want to kill Dean.”

Dean had been on the cusp of killing Sam to persuade Death to help him by taking him out of the world under the influence of the Mark of Cain. Little as he wanted to admit it to himself, he would have done it if Sam hadn’t been able to reach him by giving him the pictures. He’d said he wanted Dean to remember what it was to love. He’d thought he’d lost that ability when the Mark had taken over, but seeing Sam kneeling at his feet, braced for death, he had realized that love was all he’d really had left. He knew exactly how Chuck felt now, but it was the world at stake, Chuck’s own creation, that had to be enough to make him choose the world over his sister.

“Will you though?” Dean asked.

Chuck nodded. “I would if I had a way.”

“But there is no way?” Sam asked.

“The only way to defeat her now is light,” Chuck said. “That’s the only thing that can defeat darkness.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “We’ll throw the sun at her, will we?”

Castiel gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “Souls,” he breathed. “We can use souls. Each soul has the power of a hundred suns.”

Chuck nodded slowly. “Yes… Maybe.”

“What do we do with them though?” Dean asked. 

Rowena chuckled. “We can always build a bomb. There is a spell in the Book of the Damned. You get me souls, I can build it.”

“I can get souls,” Crowley said. “I have plenty. How exactly do we get the bomb to her though? Get close and throw it?”

Sam’s horrorstruck eyes found Dean’s, and Dean knew they were thinking the same thing. There was one person that could get close to Amara, and that was him.

“It’s got to be me,” he said, avoiding Sam’s eye and trying not to flinch as Sam whispered his name in a wrecked voice. “I can get close.”

“Can you?” Castiel asked. “You would need to be close to hurt her. Will your connection let you do it?”

“It has to,” Dean said. “It’s this or the world.”

Rowena clapped her hands together. “That’s great, but it’s more than dropping a bomb and running, dear. You will _be_ the bomb.” She raised an eyebrow. “Can you still do it?”

“It will kill me?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Rowena said simply.

“No!” Sam said harshly.

“It’s me or the world, Sammy,” Dean said. “If I don’t do this, we lose everything and everyone we care about.” When he saw Sam wasn’t moved, he went on, “I let you make the choice when you let Lucifer in. It was you or the world. I let you choose the world. You have to let me choose this time.”

Sam raked a hand roughly over his face and nodded. “I know. I get it. It’s just feels wrong.  At least we go out together.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

Sam looked at him, his face creased with sadness. “I’m you, Dean. What happens to you, happens to me.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Chuck who nodded. “He’s right. You won’t be here to tether him anymore. Amara may choose to bring you back to maintain your connection, but with your death the tether will be broken. Sam will go back to Cipencel.”

Dean shook his head. “No. We need another way.”

“There is no other way,” Chuck said.

“It’s up to you,” Sam said. “You’re the one that has to do it.”

“It’s not just me anymore,” Dean snapped. “It us.”

“It was never me,” Sam said desperately. “However this ends, there is nothing for me. Either you do it and I go back to Cipencel, or you don’t and the world ends. You know she won’t let me stay with you. It’s ending for me no matter what happens.” He turned to Chuck. “I don’t want to go back to Cipencel, though. I want to be part of the bomb. Those souls are going to blink out, aren’t they?”

Chuck nodded.

“And I can be part of it? If you make me part of the bomb, my soul will be destroyed too?”

“Yes,” Chuck said quietly. “It would end for you there.”

“No!” Dean said with anguish at the thought of Sam’s soul being destroyed.

Sam turned to him, his brows low over his sad eyes. “This is my choice. I don’t want hell again. I want it to end.”

“There has to be something you can do,” Dean implored Chuck.

Chuck considered. “There is something, but there will be consequences. We can power Castiel with the souls, too, and he can move Sam from Cipencel to Zericel. He would have to face whatever came next though.”

“I will do that,” Castiel said without hesitation.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I don’t want that.”

“Sammy…” Dean said, his thoughts tangled as he tried to find the words to make Sam see he needed to do it.

“No,” Sam said again, his voice softer now. “Zericel is heaven, but it’s a heaven alone. Either way it ends, we’re never going to see each other again. I would rather have nothing at all than an eternity of that. It would be a different kind of hell.”

Dean fought back the tears that burned the back of his eyes. He knew there was no other choice for either of them really. Sam would have hell, a heaven alone, or nothing. No matter what they did, they couldn’t be together.  Dean understood that better than anyone else there, and that was what made him nod and say, “Okay. I get it. Let’s do it.”

Sam smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

Dean couldn’t find the words to reply so he addressed Rowena and asked, “What do you need for the spell?”

Rowena smiled sweetly. “A crystal, a large one, and a few thousand souls.”

“I can get the souls,” Crowley said with a smug smile. “Be right back.”

He disappeared and Chuck said, “Castiel, go to heaven. The more souls we have, the more powerful the bomb. Tell them I am asking them to give some up.”

Castiel nodded and walked to the door, Dean watched him go, trying to calm his racing heart. He wasn’t scared of dying for this, but he was scared to say goodbye to Sam. This time there really would be no comebacks, no miracles. Sam was going to blink out and Dean would be left without him.

He would never see his brother again.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean and Sam were sitting together in the library. Castiel and Crowley were still not back, and Rowena was flipping through the Book of the Damned at another table. Chuck had dragged himself up the stairs and outside to see Lucifer.

Dean didn’t care what was happening out there between them. He was drinking his last beer, enjoying the last moments he would even had with his brother, in the last hours of his life.

Sam was quiet, staring down at the tabletop. Dean wondered if he was thinking of what was coming for him, or if, like Dean, he was thinking what would happen to his brother. Dying would be easier for Dean, he was doing it to save the world, and it wouldn’t end for him completely. Sam would have nothing at all.

“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked, hoping Sam might change his mind and allow Castiel to take him to Zericel after all.

Sam looked at him, his eyes sad. “Are you?”

“I have to be, Sammy,” Dean said gently.

“Then I am, too.”

Dean heard the door opening, and he looked out to the war room as Castiel and Crowley came in, followed by Chuck and Lucifer.

Dean thought Lucifer had gotten his apology as he looked smug, and Chuck was smiling slightly. As they entered, Lucifer cast Rowena an appraising look, and she flinched. Dean turned away from Lucifer and saw Sam glaring at the archangel. It seemed, now that there was no fear for Dean’s life, he was just angry. Lucifer’s hold over him had finally passed, just in time for everything else to pass, too, including the half-life that was all that was left for him.

Dean winced and said, “Did you get them?”

“No,” Crowley said, pointing at Lucifer. “After _he_ took over, my stash was raided. I have none to take.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, feeling the hope that had kept him functioning fading.

Castiel shook his head. “The angels are aware that Chuck is dying and they’re not willing to commit souls to what they see as a pointless mission. They are going to allow them to die with dignity.”

“Chuck!” Sam said desperately. “You’ve got to go there. Make them change their minds.”

Chuck sighed, “I don’t have the strength to go to Heaven now. I don’t have much time left.”

“Neither does the world,” Dean pointed out. “So what do we do?”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Billie! She owes us that favor still, and she can get souls. Call her.”

Hating that he had to go to the person that had mocked his loss, but knowing he had no other choice, Dean raised his voice and said, “Billie. We need you.”

There was a soft laugh and Billie walked from the war room into the library. “I wondered when it would occur to you to call me. I’ve been listening to your plotting. Souls are my business, after all.”

She looked around the room, her eyes passing the place Sam stood twice. “I assume Sam’s here listening, too.”

“He is,” Dean said.

“I would say it’s nice to see you, but, obviously, I can’t,” she said. “It’s good to know you’re still here though. I am guessing some of this was your idea.”

“Billie,” Chuck said in a warning tone. “We’re almost out of time. Will you give us the souls?”

“Sure. There are a few thousand in the veil we can spare.” She looked at Rowena. “Are you ready for them?”

Rowena held out the crystal and said, “Whenever you are, dear.”

Billie smiled and took the offered crystal from Rowena. For a moment nothing happened, and then bright light streamed from the air into the crystal that blazed. It seemed to go on forever, and Dean heard Sam’s fast breaths beside him as he watched. Dean wondered if he was scared now it was almost the moment for him to go.

The last soul disappeared into the crystal that glowed and Billie handed it back to Rowena who looked around the room. “I think we’re one short.”

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Tell her I’m ready.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Not yet.”

“We don’t have any more time, Dean,” Chuck said quietly.

Dean shook his head jerkily. He knew it had to happen, he had to say goodbye, and they might run out of time at any moment, but he wasn’t ready.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said softly.

“Are you sure?” he asked, giving his brother one last chance to choose heaven.

Sam nodded. “Yes.”

Dean didn’t want to cry in front of the gathered people, only one of them that he cared for, but the tears burned his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

Sam reached out as if to touch him, and then dropped his hand to his side again with a sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I have so much to be grateful to you for.” He shrugged and smiled sadly. “But we’re out of time.” He walked to Rowena and said. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Now, Rowena,” Chuck said.

Rowena murmured an incantation and Dean breathed his brother’s name as he became white light and was siphoned into the crystal.

“Sam?” Castiel said wonderingly. “I can see him.”

Rowena, Crowley and Billie were watching the light as it disappeared, too, and Dean felt yet another shock of pain as he realized Castiel was finally seeing his friend in time to say goodbye.

The last of Sam disappeared into the crystal, leaving it glowing.

Rowena looked at Dean and asked gently, “Are you ready?”

Dean nodded and wiped away the tears on his face. “Do it,” he said resolutely.

Rowena held out the crystal and spoke words in a language he didn’t recognize. For a moment Dean watched, waiting for something to happen, and then his eyes squeezed closed as the light rushed at him. His chest burned like it was on fire, and he bit back scream. The pain seemed to go on forever, and when it finally ended, he realized he was being held upright by Castiel. He straightened up, and thanked him before stepping away from him, unable to bear the comforting touch. 

“What next?” he asked Chuck.

“Rowena?” Chuck prompted, his voice weak with exhaustion.

“You have about an hour before you’re a ticking time bomb,” she said. “Get close to her and do this.” She raised her hand and pressed her index finger to her thumb. “That’s all it takes.”

Dean nodded. “Right. We need to find Amara.”

“I know where she is,” Chuck said. “She’s not warding herself from me anymore.”

“Why not?” Castiel asked.

“Because she’s won. I can send you to her.”

“Okay,” Dean said taking a deep breath. “Let’s get this done. Cas, there’s a lake in Greenville, Illinois. Crowley knows where it is. If there’s anything left of me to burn, take my ashes there.”

“Is that where Sam is?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, though he knew now that it wasn’t true. As Sam had been trying to tell him all along, that was just a body. The part that made Sam who he was really was now in Dean’s chest, burning and waiting for the end.

“Dean…” Castiel started.

Dean could tell Castiel wanted him to talk, to say goodbye maybe, but he couldn’t bear to add another goodbye to Sam’s. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, forcing a smile.

Castiel looked sad but he nodded, seeming to understand what Dean couldn’t say or do for him.

“I’m ready,” Dean said to Chuck.”

Chuck hesitated a moment as if gathering strength and then held up his hand, and Dean felt the disconcerting sensation of movement before he arrived in a well-tended park. 

Dean looked up at the weak glow of the dying sun above him and grimaced. They really were out of time.

“Dean?”

His eyes snapped down and he saw Amara walking through an arch and into the garden. She stopped at the end of a stone path that lay between two lush lawns and looked him up and down.

“You came,” she said, sounding pleased.

Dean met her eye unflinchingly. “I had to.”

“Did you have to bring a bomb?”

“Yes,” Dean said, seeing her disappointment. “You’ve given us no choice.” He held his hand at his side, his fingers poised to touch and end it.

“You can’t kill me, Dean” she said almost sympathetically. “You won’t be able to do it.”

“I have to. Unless you can fix Chuck, you have to stop what you’re doing, or it’s all going to end.”

“I can fix him,” she said. “But why would I? You know what he did to me, what he was going to do again.”

“He had no choice either,” Dean said sadly. “You were going to destroy everything. You don’t have to though.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I just said goodbye to my brother for the last time. He’s in here now.” He touched his chest. “And I am never going to see him again. I would give _anything_ to be in your place right now. Chuck is still alive, for now, and you’re wasting your last chance to fix things between you."

“You love your brother,” she stated. “I could see that.”

“More than anything,” Dean said, his voice catching. “And I’m letting him go to save the world.”

“Because you don’t know what it feels like to be betrayed, to hate.”

“I do,” Dean said sadly. “Sam betrayed me before, and I betrayed him. I have hated him, and he has hated me, but that doesn’t cancel love. You can only hate if you already loved them. I will _never_ see my brother again, but you could. If you stop this, help Chuck, you can start all over again. I can’t do that.”

She frowned. “But what he did to me…”

“Was awful,” Dean said. “I know. He knows that, too. He made a mistake. But you have a chance. Let him apologize. Rebuild what you had. Be angry, but don’t give him up because of anger.”

Amara considered his words for a long time, and Dean stood with his muscles tensed to act. If this didn’t work, if he couldn’t reach her, he would get as close as he could and blow the bomb, lose his brother, but he could see in her eyes that there was the smallest chance it could work. 

She lifted a hand and said, “Brother,” and Chuck appeared beside her. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and then she seemed to force herself to calm as she asked, “Do you think you made a mistake trapping me?”

“Yes,” Chuck said solemnly. “I thought the world needed to happen, and I let that overpower my love for you. I regret what I did, but I don’t regret creation. It’s the most incredible thing.”

Amara smiled slightly. “It is, but you shouldn’t have locked me away.”

“I shouldn’t’ve,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

Amara looked at him for a long moment and then she nodded. Dean watched, tensed as a coiled spring, as she laid a hand on Chuck’s chest and light glowed and rippled over him.

For a moment, Dean was scared, thinking she was finishing the job early, and he was on the point of allowing his fingers to touch, but then the light faded and Chuck was revealed to be standing tall again, his face flushed with color.

“Thank you, Sister,” he said with warmth.

Amara smiled. It was the first time Dean had seen her looking like this, as if all the cares and pain of an eternity in captivity were lifted, and it made her even more beautiful.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Chuck said, walking towards him and placing his hand on Dean’s chest. He felt a drawing sensation and then a strange emptiness.

“They’re gone,” Chuck said.

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed at his sternum, his racing heart starting to calm.

“What about Sammy?”

“I released him, too,” Chuck said. “It may take a moment, but he will come.”

“Thank you,” Dean said fervently, his heart seeming to swell with the overwhelming relief and happiness he felt.

“We need to go,” Chuck said. “There are things we need to say, and we’ll need space to do that.”

“Sure,” Dean said vaguely, his eyes still scanning the area for a sign of his brother. 

“Dean,” Amara said, her voice happier than he’d ever heard.

Dean forced himself to look at her and saw that she was smiling widely. “Yeah?”

“You gave me what I needed when I needed it most,” she said. “I want to do the same for you.”

Dean was at the point of asking what she meant when the outline of her and Chuck faded and were replaced with streams of black smoke and white light. They twisted and coiled, reaching for the sky and disappearing.

Dean stared at the place they had been, awed, until what he was missing returned to him and he looked around again. “Sam! Sammy!” he called. “Where the hell are you?”

He started to panic when there was no response, thinking that perhaps Chuck had been wrong, but then he heard a voice calling back, “I’m coming,” and he relaxed.

Sam appeared through the arch Amara had stood in front of, a wide smile on his face. Dean stood motionless for a moment, just absorbing the fact he was there, and then he noticed what was wrong. The sun that was now burgeoning overhead was streaming down on Sam, casting a shadow on the stone path.

“Are you really…?” He couldn’t finish the question, scared to hope.

Sam nodded and walked toward him, a wide smile on his face. “I’m really.”

He stopped in front of Dean, and Dean reached out a shaking hand to Sam’s chest. With an ache of longing, he moved it an inch closer and touched the point above Sam’s heart. The fact he could feel it, that his hand was being moved by Sam’s breaths, made him feel weak with relief and happiness.

Sam pulled him into a hug and Dean gripped him back as hard as he could.

“You’re really here?” he asked, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Sam patted his back and then pulled away to look into his eyes. Dean saw that Sam’s were wet, too.”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m really here.” He laughed. “I’m really back.”


End file.
